


Shadows in the fade

by MaevenHall



Series: Somewhere in Between [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, M/M, Rebound Solavellan, Second Chance Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-07-12 12:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevenHall/pseuds/MaevenHall
Summary: The Inquisitor has given up everything; her future, her love, and her hand. It feels like there could be nothing left to give. The Inquisition continues the search for Solas, even as they have a new fire to put out in the form of a demon cult. Eliana has to retrain her body to fight and her heart to think of Solas as the enemy.This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment only. Dragon age is not owned by myself, but rather belongs to all legal copyright holders.





	1. So it begins

CHAPTER ONE

Eliana Lavellan used her staff, one-handed, on a training dummy with a fierce determination to put the damn thing through the dummy's face. With a loud crack, the staff gave way on the return swing and the blade flew into the nearby grass. She breathed deeply as she stared at the destroyed weapon. After a moment, she swore and threw the rest of the staff after the tip.

Her magic was intact, but her prowess with the staff was gone since the loss of her hand. That final searing pain had been her breaking point. By the time Falon had removed the damn key, El would have given anything to make the pain stop. She'd have given up the arm, her life, whatever it took to no longer feel like she was burning up from the inside.

"Bad day?" Iron Bull watched from the tavern door.

El huffed, then sat on the bench under the shade tree. "I can't get back what I lost, Bull."

"People seldom do," he said simply as he walked over and sat down beside her. Trust Bull to be too honest, she thought. "A staff is a two-handed weapon. What you need is training in something one-handed, work on your balance. Blades, I think."

"You think that will work?"

"Boss, I've seen you kill demons with your brain. You can learn a blade."

Eliana met the eyes of the most unlikely friend she possessed. Iron Bull was a refreshing, jolting breath of fresh air. The most important men in her life had lied to her one too many times. She had Bull and Cullen to believe in at least. Bull was tidally locked.

He never changed, and there was a time she might have considered that to be a bad thing. There's something to be said for certainty. "When do we start?"

"No time like the present, Boss." He stood patting his massive hands on his knees. "I'll go looking for a good blade. I'm sure we'll have something in storage."

"Tomorrow morning?" She wanted to do this. She needed to feel like herself again.

"Sure."

Putting her hand in her pocket, she made straight for Cullen's tower. He would be there today slogging through backed-up paperwork. As she approached the heavy door, the guards on watch greeted her one by one. She nodded to them all.

She knocked once then entered as was her habit. Once her eyes adjusted to what she was seeing, she said, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" She covered her eyes with her hand. Cullen had Falon bent over his desk. He'd made it to shirtsleeves, and El was fairly sure Falon had no small clothes under that skirt. "Sweet Andraste," she breathed closing the door again.

That was when she saw the Commander's new batman, Timmons approaching. He had a communique in his hand.

"You don't want to go in there," she told him in warning. He smiled at her. She hadn't seen Timmons much before this, but he always smiled even when he had little cause. He was like Dorian that way.

"They can't keep their hands off each other since they got the news."

"What news?" She said in confusion.

"Oh, damn. You don't know." He put up a hand, then knocked. "Everybody decent, commander?"

"Yes," Cullen growled from inside.

The batman held the door for her, and she took one last querying look at the man before she entered Cullen's den of iniquity He pulled his vest back on, but hadn't had time to button it.

He began as soon as she entered, "Inquisitor, I apologize. That was completely inappropriate."

She waved her hand. "It's perfectly fine, Cullen. I, too, know the temptations of a good sturdy desk. Where is Mrs. Rutherford? Upstairs mortified because her husband's a beast, I presume."

Cullen put one hand on the desk in question, his face red as a rage demon. "Just so, Inquisitor."

"I'll talk to her in a moment. What's this about news?"

Cullen cast a look at the Sergent. "I apologize. I assumed she would know."

Nodding, he said, "I hadn't had time."

Knowingly, Timmons replied, "You have been occupied with other matters, ser."

That got Cullen to unwind entirely. It was clear the two were friends as Cullen mumbled in a good-natured kind of acceptance, "Have done."

Cullen walked to the steps. "Falon," he called upstairs. "Do you want to tell her?"

Adorably pink, Falon stepped down a few steps on the spiral staircase. Her curls were arranged in unruly disorder on top of her head. They always looked that way, and now El wondered how much that had to do with Cullen. His elven wife always appeared traditionally dainty and sweet, but Falon had seen a fiercely protective streak in the other woman that she could hardly deny and wholeheartedly respect.

"Cullen tells me you have news, Falon," she said softly.

"We do, but first let me say, I'm so sorry for earlier."

El held up a hand to interrupt her moving closer to the steps. If she knew the girl, she knew just what bothered her the most. She would be less embarrassed and more concerned that she'd flaunted her love before the Inquisitor, her friend, who no longer had one.

Or, she supposed she shouldn't.

No one knew that he was still visiting her in dreams, pulling her into the Fade with him either on purpose or on accident. Looking stern, Eliana spoke quietly. "Truly, Falon. Your happiness brings me nothing but joy."

Falon smiled widely. Then, said, "I have a question then. Do you like children?"

"I suppose I do. I haven't been around them much." She threw the two men puzzled looks. They merely beamed at Falon. "Why do you...? Oh," she said. "Oh!"

Falon nodded, and El held out her arm to the girl. They were near in age, but worlds apart in experience. El thought of Falon as a young sister. She supposed that made Cullen a brother. "Baby?"

"Baby." Falon ran into her embrace. "I've never wanted anything more."

A horrid realization hit her. "The cupboard. Oh, no."

Falon nodded sadly. "I may never get out again. You have to come and visit me."

Behind them, she heard Timmons ask, "What cupboard?"

"Don't ask," Cullen growled.

"All right then," Timmons said. "Commander, if you'll walk with me, Charter's received a dispatch from the Approach." The two men started for the door when the Inquisitor stopped them.

"One moment, I want to hear that dispatch."

"Inquisitor..."

"Cullen." Her voice was the voice. The one she used when she wanted her way and creator help the one who got in her way. Cullen nodded at Timmons.

"Very well, ser. The Cultists have been spotted. We believe they are on the move."

El demanded, "Are they still in the Approach?"

"Only just," Timmons answered. "Charter wants to dispatch riders before end of the day. Two days hard ride and she thinks we could catch them before they got to the plains."

"In the exalted plains, we'd have Orlesian aid."

Cullen spoke up. "Since the council, we are attempting not to strain our Orlesian alliance. There is some pressure on the Empress to distance herself from us."

El nodded. "Of course there is." She stood straighter. "I'll take the Chargers. We'll leave tonight."

Everyone said her name at once with the exception of the Sergent who only watched her carefully. "You aren't in fighting shape." Cullen ran his hand over his neck as he detailed all the reasons she couldn't.

"I'm going, Cullen. If you feel I should step down from this position, now is the time to say so." It was the harshest she'd ever spoken to him in or out of a war council meeting, and some of those arguments could get heated.

He looked as if she'd struck him.

"That is not what I meant at all."

Timmons cleared his throat. "Ser, permission to interject?"

"Let's hear it, Timmons," Cullen waved a hand with a frustrated sigh.

"The Inquisitor is a mage, after all, Ser. What she needs is a bodyguard to protect against close-quarters fighting. I volunteer, ser."

Eliana hated the idea, but it was a good one. She was hobbled in melee, and she knew that. There was no sense in pretending it wasn't true. "What's your specialty, Sergent?" She asked the question as if she hadn't guessed.

"I'm a bladesman, Inquisitor. A dualist, as well."

"Orlesian?" she asked.

"In the beginning, Ma'am. I left Orlais as a boy."

His voice had only the slight purr of that thick Orlesian propriety.

"That explains the accent and the specialty. Will that satisfy you, Cullen?" El turned what everyone called her "dragon eyes" on her commander. He waved a hand at her.

"I suppose that will have to do. Andraste, who's in the cupboard now?"

El met his eyes regretting that they were falling out over this. He was the closest friend she had since... She shook her head. "Yes, but you only get put in there for bad behavior. Timmons, would you mind telling Bull the plan? Between the two of you, can you ready the troop?"

He saluted her. "Of course, Inquisitor."

He left without another word. Cullen said to his retreating form, "I do believe my batman is running away."

Eliana laughed at Cullen. "He's probably worried about what sights await him in this office. But then, he's not married to Falon, so..." Her voice trailed off, and impulsively she hugged the commander of her army.

Pressing herself against his chest and meeting Falon's troubled gaze, she said, "I'll be careful. I promise." Falon nodded, and Cullen wrapped both arms around her and squeezed.

She hadn't been held since...

Eliana stepped back and left the tower quickly before she did the unthinkable. Tears were the last thing one wanted in an Inquisitor.

She pulled on her riding gloves, then was forced to readjust her camp bag on her shoulder. In the courtyard, she could hear the mounts jangle and the soldiers tromping through mud. "Chargers! Horns up!"

It was routine when the Inquisitor traveled with the Chargers. In truth, it made her feel like one of them that she was included. "Horns up!" they all shouted out in the afternoon air.

Timmons hurried to take her camp bag and stow it on the back of her saddle. Her red hart whinnied hello as El reached into her pocket and pulled out an apple for her. "Good girl, Finril."

"Are you ready, Inquisitor?" Timmons stood at perfect attention waiting for her answer. She nodded. Few people were this formal with her.

"Let's go. Ready, Bull?"

"Always ready, Boss." He road a Ferelden mount up to stand over her as she hadn't mounted yet. "Here's your blade, Inquisitor."

She took the sheath and blade from Bull and secured it for the time being on her mount. She'd ask Timmons to familiarize her with the set up once they camped. It was her understanding he would be in the tent beside hers for the duration of the trip into the Approach.

She wasn't entirely sure why that made her uneasy, but it did.

They rode out of the courtyard a party of fifty men, the Inquisitor, and her own personal Orlesian rogue.


	2. Son of a Farmer

In the Orlesian army, his title had been Sergent Jean-Davin Timmons, the son of a simple Orlesian farmer. He’d commanded a squad in Gaspard’s regulars before signing on with the Templars. It was a choice many questioned. To some, he was considered no better than a traitor; to others, he was a changed man who had seen the light of Andraste and gone to serve her chantry. The truth was somewhat simpler than that.  
He’d been a commoner’s son in need of occupation. The decision to join the army had been neither political or moral in nature, but rather one of blatant self-interest. That being said, he’d taken to army life with remarkable ease, and once that army decided to the war on itself he had gone to find another far away from the inequalities of the Orlesian court and its nobles.  
What he’d eventually found had been more along the lines of a crusade, something he’d never imagined himself embracing. He was no crusader, yet here he was. No, Jean would always be merely a farmer’s son. He hoped his assignment with the commander would help earn a promotion, but he didn’t care much about the title. He loved the challenge. He wanted the duty, not the prestige.  
The longer he knew the members of the Inquisition, in particular, the inner circle of the Inquisitor, the more he found himself in agreement with their cause. In fact, he found himself becoming passionate about it which was entirely unlike him.  
Today, he found himself riding along behind the Inquisitor on a bright spring morning in another twist he hadn’t seen coming from life. He was used to them, but this one was a surprise. Strange where a man could end up without even trying.  
The plod of hooves on the dirt road was a rhythmic thud as the morning turned warmer and they finally reached the foot of the mountains. He looked up at the sun to note its position with a squint. They’d be deep in the Dalish highlands by nightfall at this pace, however, although the Inquisition still had camps nearby, Bull preferred to run his own camp when he traveled.  
He watched carefully as the Inquisitor rode before him with surprising ability given her injury, still somewhat new. She must have trained constantly since it healed to regain her ease in the saddle, especially on that beast. The hart swayed gracefully, but they were more difficult to tame. They weren’t usually battle mounts, but Jean had noticed nothing about the elf woman who changed the world with a flick of her wrist was usual.  
She was also uncommonly beautiful. Though he tried not to notice that, he’d have to be dead not to see it. Her hair shone in the sun revealing the hints of red in the black. She had the lithe grace of a dancer and used it to her advantage when sparring with the commander. He’d watched them battle enough to know he did not want to be at cross purposes with the woman.  
More than all of that, though, was the surprising fact that he liked her. She was a genuinely good person in a world full of pretenders and villains, and she had a knack for attracting others like herself to her side. She was magnetic. He wondered if she realized that she was the Inquisition. Without her, it would fade away into obscurity. Eliana Lavellan was the movement, the Herald of Andraste despite her Elven heritage.  
He let his eyes roam the colder countryside, ever vigilant for threats. Bull pushed the troop hard today, so they must have a destination in mind. Jean thought she might be flagging by the way her shoulders drooped in the saddle, so he quickly spurred his mount to her side.  
“Inquisitor, do you need a moment?”  
She looked up at him in surprise. “Sergent?”  
“You looked to be tired, Inquisitor.”  
She shook her head. “Not exactly, Timmons. I was thinking, I suppose.”  
“Ah, so it was simply the weight of your thoughts that made you bow in the saddle.”  
She laughed at the dramatic description. He’d meant her to. “I suppose it was.”  
An easy silence grew between them broken only by the sounds of the march through the Dales until she asked, “Timmons, how does one leave the Orlesian army to become a Templar? I understand that’s some of your story.”  
“The answer is simple, madame,” he said letting his accent grow with each syllable. “One does not ask for permission.”  
“You deserted?”  
“I see it differently, Inquisitor. I chose not to abandon the Empress, and I chose also not to fight a war with my brothers-in-arms. It seemed prudent to be elsewhere during the civil war.”  
“And how did you meet Cullen?”  
“Kirkwall was my first assignment. I did not care for it.”  
“Neither did he,” she agreed. “That must have been a horrible first taste of Templar life.”  
“It was, in fact,… how does Bull say it? A sack of cats. The blood mages were terrifying, and Meredith was not much better. I didn’t care for her either. I grew up among petty tyrants. It becomes second nature to spot them when your life depends on the knowledge.”  
“How did you come to us then?”  
He smiled and looked away from her. “Oh, you can guess that. I followed Cullen as did we all. My disillusion was such that I would not be a Templar again if my life depended on it.”  
“So you and he are of one mind on that.”  
“We are indeed, Inquisitor. Thank Andraste for Mistress Falon.” Even he heard the reverence in his voice, the gratitude. Embarrassed at the show of emotion, he turned in the saddle to scan the landmarks. “This is Sahrnia, no?” He pointed to the village on the horizon.  
“It is,” she answered. “We’ll be camping far to the west of there tonight. It’s likely to be cold. We’ll catch the main highway again at Verchiel.”  
“So, Inquisitor, we have distracted from my heavy thoughts. What heavy thoughts do you carry around with you this morning?”  
Her face changed immediately. He’d seen enough sorrow to know he’d bumbled into a place he had no business trespassing. “I apologize, madame. It is clearly a very heavy burden. I had no right to pry.”  
She shrugged woodenly. “I’m surprised you don’t know already.”  
“You seem certain that I don’t.”  
She gave a sad smile. “It’s one of those subjects people politely ignore. If you had known, we wouldn’t be talking about it.”  
He tipped his head back. “Ah, a scandal then. It must be a bad love affair, of course. All the best scandals are.”  
As he’d intended, she laughed softly. “You remind me of Dorian. He makes me laugh with the most inappropriate humor, and I’m ever so grateful to him when he does.” She slid her gaze to his. “It gets tiring, you know. Pretending it never happened. It’s refreshing to have someone just acknowledge my foolishness.”  
“I seem to recall whispers of you and the elven mage. What was his name?”  
“Solas,” she said, and he could barely make out the word.  
He studied her. The Inquisitor was no fool. “Did this Solas lie to you, madame? If I were a betting man, I would say you were deceived.”  
“Patently deceived. You would win that bet.”  
“Then, he is the fool certainly, not you. Only a fool would lie to a worthy woman. Only a fool throws away true love.”  
She openly stared at him now, and Jean shrank a little wondering if he might not be the fool. This was a very forward conversation. “I forget that, for all their politics and the Game, Orlesians are terrible romantics.”  
It was his turn to laugh at himself. “I am, Inquisitor. Much more than is healthy, I assure you. Yet, I stand by my statement. He is a fool. You will not sway me.”  
“I won’t try, Timmons. It’s good for my ego.” She paused as though debating what to say next. “Timmons, what is your first name?”  
“Jean-Davin,” he said with a slight bow. “At your service.”  
“That is very Orlesian,” she responded. “Since you are here in the capacity of a guard, I must make a request. You must call me Eliana. I detest being called Inquisitor incessantly. Makes me sound like an object. Doorpost. Cabbage. You use my name, and I will call you whatever you wish. Is it a deal?”  
She was charming, he realized. The Inquisitor lived her life completely without pretense. How very opposite of Orlesian that was. “You may call me what you wish,” he paused a moment. “Eliana.”  
“What do your friends call you? May I call you that?”  
He met her sure gaze with a questioning one of his own. He rather believed it possible, perhaps, that the Inquisitor was flirting with him. It had been a while, so he wasn’t quite sure. “I hope we may be that soon,” he answered her unspoken question. “Jean is what my friends call me.”  
“Very well. Jean, it is.”  
They settled once again into companionable silence as they rode toward the Western Approach. He already suspected this trip would be anything but dull.  
*  
“Well, this place is damn cold.”  
El smiled a little into her plate. She ate around a campfire with Krem and Bull. Jean ate in silence beside her as if trying not to disturb her.  
“But, Bull, aren’t you enjoying the majesty and beauty of Emprise?”  
“No,” he said in his surliest tone. ”You see majesty. I see ass-freezing desolation. Red lyrium’s almost gone though, so there’s that. The red stuff gives me the creeps.”  
“I can’t argue that last point. It’s beautiful without all that corrupted lyrium growing out of the ground.”  
Bull had finished his portion of camp stew and sat forward his elbows on his knees and empty plate in hand.  
“Your name is Timmons, right? I’m still not clear on what it is you do.”  
She caught the fleeting grin on Jean’s face. “A batman is a personal servant to a commander. Normally, I wouldn’t have a position, but Cullen’s been having trouble balancing it all. My real job is to protect his wife in any and all circumstances though I shouldn’t admit that. Being his batman gives me access to her without her realizing she’s guarded. The cult has him… unsettled.”  
Bull grunted. “Well, that’s a harder job than I suspected. Between the cult thing and the baby, Cullen is going batshit crazy, and riding herd on our darling isn’t exactly an easy assignment. You must have wrangled coming with us as a vacation.”  
Jean laughed at the joke. “It has been more peaceful so far.”  
Bull clapped both hands. “So, Boss, got your blade on you?”  
She nodded mid-bite. Dropping the uneaten bite back to her dish on the small camp table that was the only one around the fire, she slid her eyes to Bull. “Jean helped me with the sheath and belt.” She could suddenly feel the weight of it at her side beneath her heavy coat.  
He’d stood close enough behind her earlier that she could sense his body heat and feel the gentle tugs of his hands at the belt making the pieces adapt to her uses. The hilt was positioned to easily fall into her hand and stay farthest from her opponent’s.  
Bull looked to Jean with wary respect. “You’re a bladesman then.”  
“Duelist,” Jean confirmed Bull’s suspicions. Technically, they were all bladesmen; well versed in multiple bladed weapons. It was encouraged in the chargers and Cullen had adopted the custom among the Inquisition’s army. But, to claim oneself a duelist was a different thing. Bull was intrigued if the raising of his left eyebrow told her the right story.  
“Dueling with daggers? Isn’t that a bit brutal for an Orlesian?”  
Jean lifted an eyebrow back. “I am a commoner. The fighting I’ve learned has one purpose: survival.”  
“Is he any good Krem?” Bull never looked at his second, just asked the question as if, of course, Krem would already know.  
“He’s brutal and dirty in training, Boss. More like a crow than a duelist, ser.”  
“Are you a crow?” Bull asked Jean referring to the infamous assassins in a wary, slightly disdainful way.  
He shook his head showing no outward reaction to the question of whether he was, in fact, an Antivan assassin. “I’ve never been to Antiva. The poor in Orlais learn early they can’t be Chevaliers and live. Honor in a fight will get you killed.”  
“Street fighting. That’s good. Why don’t you take El here in hand? Teach her some of your Orlesian survival skills? She needs moves that the regular military soldier won’t know how to counter. You may be just what the doctor ordered.”  
She saw Jean’s slight nod to Bull, and then couldn’t speak when he looked to her, saying, “After you finish eating, we’ll start.”  
She shoved the now cooled stew into her mouth. Orlesian street fighting and on a full stomach, no less.  
Eliana shoveled her food in faster now because she felt conspicuous to the group around the fire. Jean nodded at her eventually, noticing her empty dish, and took both the dish and tiny table to the kitchen fire just out of view.  
After he’d left, Bull pinned her with a look. “So, what do you think of the Orlesian?”  
“He seems a good man.”  
“Cullen know him very well?”  
She nodded. “He followed him from Kirkwall. They’ve fought together many times, he said.”  
“That’s good,” Bull seemed to unwind by a fraction. “A person knows another better than any lover could if they’ve fought side-by-side.” He kept his eyes trained in the direction Jean had walked. “You’ll need to know something different for close quarters. The arm is a disadvantage, but it could become an asset if we get you the right training. Let’s see what the kid’s got.”  
When Jean returned, she found herself dragged to a large open area in the center of camp left as a congregation spot, a rally point with room to fight. Activity in the camp was tapering off as soldiers who were not on guard went to their beds, and Bull had dragged over a bench to watch the training.  
The two faced off with their daggers drawn. “All right. Keep your dagger out front. I know the military tells you to protect the blade as your last defense, but it’s not your last defense. You have magic.” She mirrored his stance. “Good. Okay, most attacks will come from a right-handed attacker. Your goal is to not be there when the blow falls. That’s your first priority. Avoid the blow.” He raised his blade to come down on her, and she moved back and away as quickly as possible.  
He grinned at her. “That’s good, but now, we’re going to learn our first lesson in dirty fighting. It’s easier to maim than to kill. Show me a blow from above,” he ordered. “You are my attacker this time.”  
The Inquisitor raised her blade to come in for a basic attack. He grabbed her arm. “Watch.”  
He took a smooth, mock swipe at her forearm as he moved away from the slow-motion attack.  
“Now, this one is disabled. Kill him or not, he’s finished in the fight if you injure to the wrist or the back of the hand, and you move to the next.”  
They continued this way for some time. Eliana realized this wasn’t as hard as she’d feared. The dagger extended her reach, but she didn’t have a guard hand. Therefore, she had to be faster, using techniques of avoidance rather than blocking. It wasn’t easy, but it was achievable, she realized.  
“Enough,” Jean finally said to her. “You need to rest for the road.”  
Eliana sheathed the weapon a little awkwardly, but she looked up at her bodyguard, and now trainer, she supposed. “Thank you.” The words were spoken so no one else could hear and they were earnest, so serious. Eliana felt pure gratitude to the man for giving her this.  
“Honestly, thank you, Jean.” She put up a hand and said goodnight to them all. Then she turned and headed for the tents.  
*  
Jean watched her leaving, and he heard the lumbering Qunari behind him. “She needs this,” Bull said. “If she doesn’t get back some of what she lost to Corypheus, she won’t make it long.”  
Jean looked up at the other man’s piercing, intelligent eyes. Bull was a good example of appearance being deceiving. It was clear the leader of the chargers missed nothing. He continued, “Solas didn’t just leave. No, he took everything with him. Her self-respect, her trust, her hand.”  
“He took her hand?” Shock filled him. That would mean he’d thoroughly misread some of the truths she’d told. She’d been keeping up her own appearances, saving face, saying only so much but not the whole.  
“Might as well have. The orb that marked her was his. The fault is his alone.” Bull stared him down a moment making sure Jean felt the full weight of the glare.  
“You had something else to say, Iron Bull?”  
“Yes, I do, in fact,” he said adjusting his shoulders. “Normally, I’m a very live-and-let-live kind of man, however, I read people. You’re setting your eyes a little high, my Orlesian friend. She’s not a tumble in the backroom of a bar. She’s Inquisition. Eliana Lavellan is needed. Essential, even.”  
Jean let his hand rest on his own blade a moment as he took that for the implied threat it surely was. Still, he wasn’t a foolish man. He could lie to himself and to Bull, however, that wasn’t who he was. He liked the Inquisitor, he knew that.  
Jean looked in the direction she’d gone. “I know my place, Qunari, if that’s what worries you. Any blade looking for her heart goes through mine first. That’s my place.”  
The Iron Bull smiled at him widely, appearing almost sinister when he shouldn’t. Jean forced himself not to react. “Good enough, soldier.”  
Darkness had fallen inky and cold around them but for the camp lanterns. As Bull disappeared toward his tent, Jean parsed over each word they’d said tonight. It would have to stop. He was no fit match for the leader of the Inquisition, and he knew that. She was his charge. That’s all.


	3. Verchiel

Two days riding brought them to Verchiel. El stretched on the back of the hart as she worked at the sore place on her lower back. The ride hadn't been an easy one for her. This was the longest she'd traveled by horseback since her injury.

The scent of baking bread rose from the baker's shop as they rode by, tempting her. It smelled delicious, and she'd barely eaten this morning. She wondered absently where they would camp, and if they had time to pick up some bread on the way out the village. Her stomach protested as they continued past the bakery.

She'd only been here once, with Sera. The local nobility, Lord Pel Harmond, had killed a few people in his bid to seek out the Red Jennys. He'd gone mysteriously missing after that episode. She'd never regretted that death, not once.

Perhaps, it was because she wasn't human. Elves, particularly the Dalish, were very aware of the cycle of birth to death. They understood the fragile relationships between prey and hunter, as well. Some deaths were necessary. Lord Harmond was one of those. The world was a better, brighter place without him in it. Even the village appeared to be thriving without the strangling grip of a spoiled noble around its neck.

Bull pulled the group to a halt outside the village in a meadow that looked as if it would be muddy during rainy spells, but today was thankfully dry. Sitting astride his battlenug, the only mount Bull could ride comfortably, he surveyed the land around him. "Krem," he shouted.

"Yes, Boss." The young man galloped toward their position.

"Take Dalish and Stitches to scout the road ahead. My horns are itching."

El couldn't ignore that. "What does that mean, Bull?"

Krem answered instead as Bull continued to squint into the distance. His eyes were much better than human ones for the task. "His horns itch when there's going to be trouble."

Eliana smiled at Bull though he didn't notice. "Well, I don't know how you've stood Skyhold then." Krem hid his own. "You got it, Boss," he said riding off. Bull started issuing orders to the others, and El dismounted to help set up camp. She and Timmons joined the crew building three large campfires.

"Just the three large tents tonight, Rocky." Bull's bellow could probably be heard back in Verchiel though it lay at least a league behind them.

By the time, Krem and the scouting party rode back in, the camp was nearly ready to sup on venison cooking on a spit, and potatoes cooked in the dying coals. Krem dismounted and headed straight for Bull without stopping. Jean caught her eye as they both noticed the urgency in the young man's walk.

"It would appear Bull's instincts are impeccable," Jean said to her.

"They've saved my life a time or two."

Bull would inform her of the news as soon as he'd taken action on it. El decided not to waste time as she waited. "I think I'll work through some of those forms you showed me," she told Jean. She started to remove her battle-coat, but Jean beat her to it, taking it gently from her shoulders and folding it to put it neatly across a fallen tree truck now serving as camp seating.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he said. "Arm closer." His correction was softly spoken as she took up her stance, and she accepted his coaching without a word.

"What is it?"

"How are you handling the magic without a staff? Forgive me if it's a stupid question. I've known few mages."

"Technically, I don't need it," she answered as she sliced the knife through the air in an x pattern. "The staff helps mainly with melee, but it acts as a focus for our power and an amplifier."

"Would any object do for the purpose?"

He clearly had a direction for the question. "Not exactly. It has to be enchanted, but, as I said, I don't actually need it."

She glanced at him a moment to see a sardonic lift of the eyebrows. "But it gives you an advantage?"

With a slight nod of her head, she continued into a cross pattern.

"Then you need it, El. You need every advantage you can get to make up for your..."

She stopped moving to let her hand holding the knife drop with a deep breath. "You can say it."

It was there in his dark gaze. She read something akin to sadness, something skirting pity. He took the knife from her hand gently. "Every fighter has a disadvantage. Krem can't hold a shield wall if Bull stands over him with an ax. My right arm isn't nearly as strong as my left in a fight." He stepped closer and Eliana breathed in the clear night air to keep her mind clear. There was an intimacy in the way he leaned into her smaller frame. She felt... something she hadn't felt for a year or more. He went on, "That arm of yours isn't your biggest disadvantage."

She scoffed at him. "Really?"

He shook his head. "You're the Inquisitor, El. Every god-damned warrior in every army you face wants to be the one to say they killed you. Every army takes every shot they get at you. That's your disadvantage."

Eliana stood speechless, a state she wasn't used to.

"I can't argue with that."

He cocked his head as if she had puzzled him. "You aren't afraid?"

How did she explain this? What could she actually say?

No, Jean, I don't feel a thing anymore. Of course, she couldn't say that, so she said what she always said, "There's no point worrying about the facts. It is what it is." She shook the sudden heaviness off. "It's getting late."

He looked down at the knife in his hand and gave it back to her carefully. "I know when I'm dismissed, Inquisitor." He smiled to take the bite from the words. She watched as he headed back to the tent to turn in.

Why did everyone do this to her? She couldn't do this all the time with every person who wanted to be allowed to carry part of her burden. They couldn't understand that she was nothing but the burden now.

Eliana felt nothing but the dull thud of the pain until she was certain there was nothing left of her but the pain. She couldn't start handing out pieces of herself on a tray like one of Josephine's pretty little Orlesian cakes.

Cullen listened to her. He'd been the only one to even see her cry.

_"Inquisitor?" His soft voice had said from the doorway._

_Eliana had been standing there on the balcony absorbing the pain like a sponge. She'd looked out at the view, not as a happy memory, but as a bloody reminder of a kiss one night, a kiss that she was sure would kill her eventually. She'd been looking out at the distance below her as if it might hold a type of salvation._

_It shamed her even as she thought it, but the pain tore at her with sharper teeth every day. She'd met Cullen's gaze, and the thought must have still been there on her face or perhaps he knew her that well by now._

_Gruffly, he said her name and held his arms open. She stumbled away from the edge and into his arms with wrenching sobs. She couldn't speak through them. She could only wail at how blue the sky was from here and how gray the stone of the mountain was still. Nothing in the world had changed but her, and she hated it all irrationally._

_Cullen brushed a hand over her hair holding her close. The tiny break in his voice barely audible as he said, "It will pass, El. I swear it. It won't burn like this forever."_

_She choked as she clung to his vest, "I can't. I can't do this, Cullen."_

_"You can," he said firmly. "Just as you told me I could, do you remember? We are of one cloth, are we not, Eliana Lavellan? If I can do it, you can."_

Eliana, with her friend's help, had outlasted the worst of it. She half laughed at the memory of the two of them, each fighting an addiction. Cullen's need for lyrium had passed eventually, as had her need for Solas. It still hurt, but it no longer burned as Cullen had predicted. She didn't feel as if she'd be ashes at any moment, and that was something.

Eliana wrapped herself up in her fur and embraced the void that came in sleep.

But it wasn't a void, she realized as night wind brushed her curls back blowing them across her lips in brush-like spiderwebs. The pond, the steady sweep of the waterfall across the water, the dark of the night around her; she knew the place and she gasped with the pain it caused.

"Vhenan."

Her heart cracked at the grate of sound out of the shadows. She shook her head.

"No," she whispered, the sound raw and breathless. "You aren't here."

"I'm sorry, Eliana. I tried to stay away."

She closed her eyes before the moonshine could reveal his face. "This is the Fade."

"I come here often," he said.

She turned, green eyes flying open. "How dare you?" She watched as he approached, light revealing inch by inch his beloved and hated face. "It must be you. No one else would be this arrogant."

He reached a hand toward her. "Vhenan."

"You don't get to call me that, Dread Wolf!"

He flinched at the words. "That's all I am now. The Dread Wolf of the past."

"Your past. My present. It's the same difference. Why are we here?"

She steeled her heart at his broken sigh. "I...," he paused. "I wanted to see you."

Anger burned away so much of what she'd felt for him. "Oh, I want to see you as well," she said reaching for her weapon. It wasn't there, but, as she had told Jean, she didn't really need it, did she? Without thought, between one breath and another, she'd called the storm to her hand, and it raged as did her fury. Lightning danced about on her hand before she raised it to fling it at the man who'd threatened everything she held dear.

His magic flared, and she gasped as he moved so quickly capturing her wrist, pinning it behind her back painfully at first, and then dousing her own magic with his own. It felt like he's snuffed a candle. It was just that easy for him. He'd pinned her body to his own and appeared to stare down at her frantic where she was furious.

She sobbed her frustration, resisting the familiar comfort of his arms. Tears formed in her eyes. "How could you?"

"I'm trying, Vhenan. I'm trying to say I'm sorry."

That stoked the flames again. She seethed with rage, pushing herself up into his face. "You would kill innocents. That makes you worse than Corypheus. He, at least, was mad. You are just a child's nightmare come to life."

Life drained from his face. She stifled the satisfaction she felt in the moment that she recognized the same stark loss on his own features she'd seen in the mirror for the last two years. Part of her bathed in it. Loved the fact that she could hurt him as deeply as he'd tormented her.

"You will not forgive me," he said as if only just realizing this.

"Did you honestly believe I would ever? Solas, you can't be that foolish. Cullen, Sera, Bull, Dorian, countless others across Thedas; Do you truly believe them less worthy of life than your precious ancients?" She tugged until he released her. She stumbled back trying to get away from his touch. "I would rather die with them, than live to see what you will become once you do this evil, Solas."

She flung her hand behind her and opened the portal leading from the Fade. Looking at his desolate face over her shoulder, she heard her own sorrow as she said, "Don't come to me again, Wolf. I'm yours no longer."

Eliana woke to hear her own sob in the dark. The glow of her barrier lit the small corner of the tent she slept in. "Inquisitor. Eliana," a strong voice called her name in the dim light. "What's wrong?"

Jean's worried gaze searched the darkness for the threat. Bull stood towering above him. El took a breath and released her magic. "Solas," she gasped. "He..."

Jean seemed relieved as he said, "Bad dream, then."

She laughed the brittle sound offensive in the silence of the tent. Bull answered for her. "She's a mage, Bladesman. It's probably not that simple."

El nodded at him. Bull heaved a sigh. "I'm upping the patrols. With our luck, he's nearby."

"He's near Skyhold, but he won't stay there. Not now."

Bull gave her a grim smile. "Had words, did you?"

"You could say that," she whispered. El wiped her hand over her face as if that would clear her mind of the turmoil. Bull left the tent, and El struggled to escape the confining furs of her bedroll. "I need air."

He reached over and pulled at the tangled covers, then reached for her elbow to help her to her feet. She ignored the stares as she pushed out of the tent flap and into the frosty air.

She inhaled the clean, fresh scent of the retreating mountains. Her hand shook as she covered her mouth. "El," Jean prompted. "You want to tell me?"

"No," she said in a sullen tone. "But, I should."

"You don't have to."

"I know that, but I really should. He and I can... could communicate in dreams. It's basically walking through the Fade."

"You say that so casually." He chuckled at the thought of casually walking through the Fade. She'd felt that way once.

She shrugged, unable to deny the charge.

"Could, not can?"

"He won't seek me out again."

Jean made a cluck with his teeth. "I take it you nearly took his head off."

She looked up at the stars seeking calm that wasn't there. "No, I went more for the heart."

"Ouch. He had it coming."

Eliana had developed a habit over the last two years. She would rub at the ache in her chest that was Solas. She did that now as she contemplated the situation with her mind in a rush of thoughts and reactions that made no sense. Her heartbeat in her chest like a frightened bird as she rubbed at it.

Jean reached for her hand, took it in his own, and caught her gaze. "Breathe," he commanded. And, she did. In. Out. In. "Keep breathing."

His eyes were magnetic. She couldn't look away. He was so vital and so human, so very unlike... She frowned at the unfair thought. Jean deserved more than that shabby comparison, she thought.

"That's it," he crooned. "You're safe, El."

"How did you know I was afraid?" Most people assumed she was heartbroken or sad.

"It's... What are you afraid of?"

She tried to center herself as the knowledge settled in her heart with a solid thud. "What if I can't do it? What if I can't kill him?"

"That's a possibility then?" Now, she was certain she saw pity in his eyes. She nodded and he ran his hand over his mouth before continuing, "All right, then you have my word. I will help you."

"What?" She realized he still held her shaking hand in his as it rested against her chest.

"I'll kill him if you can't. I can do that for you."

She clutched at the hope he offered even as she clutched tighter to his hand. "He can't be allowed to tear the veil, Jean. I can't flinch."

"Andraste's breath," he said as reality settled firmly on his shoulders. She watched as his tall frame bent under the burden of it.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "If I hadn't fallen in love with him... I did this."

He pulled her hand to his own chest. "You did not." Unmistakable anger radiated from him even as comfort flooded her at his touch. "El, I've known you a short time compared to Cullen or Dorian, but even I know you to be incapable of such a horror. You trusted him. He's at fault."

"I should have seen it." She accused herself of this daily. It was a habit. "I didn't want to see it."

"How?"

El wanted to hit him, even though she knew it was illogical. He'd done nothing. Solas deserved her rage and Solas alone. She heard a sharp whistle over her shoulder. It was Bull.

"Boss, we got incoming." He barreled through the camp shouting, "Horns up!"

She reacted slowly. She hadn't brought a weapon of any kind out of the tent. Jean ran back into the tent. She watched the horizon, moving to the edges of the camp out of the campfire's glare. The enemy would come in as quietly as they could.

Shouting in the tent meant that Jean had roused the soldiers. He appeared at her side soon thereafter, handing El her staff. He had palmed his own. "You stay with me, Eliana. No wandering off!"

They said nothing else as a group of elven assassins appeared at various points in the camp, and they were clearly focused on one target, Eliana.


	4. On the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana travels toward the Reach and finds clues to a brand new threat from an unexpected place.

Her barrier flashed up over the small group even as the first of the assassin bounded over the tree trunk nearby and headed straight at her. She called ice as soon as she could, but he still froze within inches of her. His wicked blade extended toward her chest.

With a shout, Jean buried his own in the man's throat and pushed him aside. He rolled into the brush nearby. Jean moved in front of El, presenting himself as the next target for the enemy. El focused on the enemies who had yet to move in on them, freezing them in place where she could so Bull's men could deal with them.

Meanwhile, Jean moved gracefully around her in a strange dance. He managed to keep each of the elves off her, but they were good. Too good to be random highwaymen and probably too good to be hired thugs.

Jean blocked a blade just as it headed toward her face, startling her. He was tiring. She could see that plainly. There were three opponents standing against him now. Bull's chargers were focused on the archers, as she and Jean and Krem fought off the blades coming for her.

There was a rhythm to swordplay, and Krem and Jean had found theirs. Krem forced one assassin to focus solely on him and his longsword pushing him away from their tiny band. It was a gamble. He would be too far away to help should he need it and there could be more. Jean had pushed his two away from her which allowed Eliana to lay mines all around her. She was calling mana for another spell when she felt the wind knocked out of her. She rolled hard in the dirt, out of her mined circle.

The elven assassin who stood above her barely flinched as the fire mine exploded behind him, close enough that it should have done more than flash off a green barrier. "Mages!" She shouted the word, hoping the others would be warned. Hidden mages just like the attack on Cullen at the Winter Palace. They had assumed it had something to do with the Qunari plot. Yet, as El faced down this assassin, garbed in a plain leather jerkin and light canine armor she noticed a symbol tattooed on the back of the man's hand in vivid dark ink.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The assassin's features filled with relish. He would enjoy killing her if she gave him the chance. "You are no better than a shem, Inquisitor. It's time our people fought back."

He lunged in a blur at the same moment she let loose a wall of ice in front of her. The sight of his body frozen like a statue in the frigid cone wall was grotesque as it always would be. Sometimes her own magic repelled her.

The fall she'd taken hurt, and her head ached from the crack it had absorbed on the way down. She looked around from her place on the ground for more enemies and saw none. The Inquisition was cleaning up.

Eliana let her head fall back on the cold, solid ground where she'd fallen. These weren't minions of a demon, and they weren't converted to the Qun. This was a brand new enemy. How many was she up to now? She thought vaguely.

As the Chargers rounded up the bodies and searched them for clues as to who sent them, Jean rounded up bandages from Stitches and called the Inquisitor over to sit on the fallen tree. He brushed the sodden fallen leaves of the forest around them from the aged bark.

"You need something for that head." She tried to wave him off, but he would have none of it. "Sit down, your worship!" Anger streamed through his veins like that foul stuff Bull drank regularly. He couldn't even remember the name of it he'd been so drunk that night. Jean realized he was unaccountably unsettled by the fight and by the woman before him playing patient.

Nothing in his tone had indicated peace of mind or respect for the office she held, something he often prided himself on. He almost winced at her response because he deserved it. "You're giving me orders now?"

He might as well go all in.

"I am," he answered very boldly for a man who wouldn't look her in the eye as he unwrapped the silk web bandage from the kit. Something drove him on, however, even when he knew he had no right, no place, here.

The woman was far too careless with her life. He'd never seen someone dive into a fray with such reckless abandon. Perhaps, she did have a death wish. He knew Falon believed it was so.

"Your worship, you are at a disadvantage."

He could practically hear her teeth grinding. "It would seem the newest in the long line of people who want me dead don't actually care. They seem to attack whether I'm ready or not."

He sighed as he applied the bandage to stop the stream of matting blood pouring down her temple. "You're right. I'm sorry, but your technique leaves something to be desired, Inquisitor."

Eliana's hand crept up to his where it pressed the bandage to the wound. She hooked delicate fingers over his wrist until he felt the touch on his palm, a single soft stroke. "Please, it's El. I... Don't call me Inquisitor, please."

She sat there, her dark hair in stark contrast to her pale skin. She looked deceptively delicate in battle when facing off against the worst Thedas had to offer, but here he realized, she could also appear deceptively strong. Instead of an Inquisitor, he let himself look deeper and saw a woman lost in the woods, shivering in the cold and bending under the weight of her responsibility.

"Eliana," he began, unsure of what he might say next. The words didn't come, but something moved in her bright gaze as if she knew what he'd meant to say.

Warmth caressed his hand where it pressed against her wound. She healed herself but didn't bother to remove his hand from the bandage, instead, he felt that steady pulse of heat seep into his hand, and then his very soul. The chill of the early Autumn melted before her magic. He was cold no longer. That minute touch to his palm flared again, almost a request. She pulled his hand holding the bandage away from a now-absent wound.

He felt the silk of the bandage curl in his hand as he grasped it, and then let the back of that loose fist slide over the place where blood still dotted fair skin. "All better," he said detecting a bit of wonder slipping out of his mouth involuntarily. He'd spent very little time amongst mages in his time. Not out of any real prejudice, he'd just never found them fascinating until this mage, in particular, crossed a courtyard where he just happened to be standing ankle-deep in mud and asking for a job.

"Jean," she started to say as Bull and Krem entered the clearing. They'd be riding on tonight, they were informed. An interruption seemed for the best if Jean was being honest. He felt himself slipping further and further into an unhealthy involvement with a woman who not only commanded legions but also loved another man.

"I'll get the horses saddled," he murmured before making a somewhat cowardly exit.

"Well, Boss," Bull said as he handed her a medallion, Elven in nature. "They weren't cultists. That looks like a wolf to me."

She ran a hand over the flat surface. She'd seen this symbol before as she traveled eluvian to eluvian through the fade. "It is, but this amulet is meant to protect the wearer from the Betrayer."

"So these are Solas' enemies?"

"Perhaps," she said looking closer at the inscription. "Beware the Wolf, it says."

"Where were these guys when we could have used them?"

In surprise, she looked up at the Qunari, "That's an excellent question. Why now? Are they only now aware that he's awakened?"

"Above my pay grade, Boss, but I know this... They'll be back."

She nodded, a grim frown pressing her lips. "Of that, I have no doubt. We should go."

They started to prepare for the journey west along the border of Orlais.

It took two days of hard riding to reach the edges of the Western approach. As forests gave way to plains and plains gave way to the desert, the temperature slowly rose with each passing league.

El had removed her leather battle coat miles back and swayed on Finril's back as the heated wind blew up through the valley and across the canyon, they approached as the afternoon sun waned. The camp at the watering hole had become a slightly more permanent thing.

A longhouse structure had been built of the native timber and a small work crew manned the quarry nearby. There were huts that housed those workers on the hillside. A keeper had been stationed in the camp as evidenced by the gentle cooing of the messenger birds.

"Inquisitor," the officer in charge said with a salute. "We've been expecting you."

Dismounting Fin, she returned the officer's salute. "Officer Kadron, is it not?"

"Yes, mum. At your service."

"Please, send word back that we've arrived in the next report if you would."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

Krem approached to take Finril's reins in hand. "I'll take care of him, your worship."

She thanked Krem and shook off the mood that had been following her since Verchiel, or tried to. It was about as impossible to shake off as her bad decisions had proven to be. The ghost of Solas would haunt her until she died, she had realized.

Her trust could not have been more completely broken, and, now, when she wanted so badly to trust someone, she found herself questioning everything. Mainly, her own judgment was in question.

She forced herself not to look at Jean as he and Krem led a string of the Charger's horses up the hill and around to the corral. She trusted Cullen's judgment, so he was a good soldier and a good man, however, Eliana had realized he was being cast in a very different role in her mind and that was dangerous. He was dangerous.

The building was nothing more than a shelter for the men. Two bunks near the fire were already taken, and there were about forty more to choose from in the large room. The cook fire had been banked in preparation for the next mealtime, and the windows were thrown up to let in as much fresh air as possible. It was still too warm in the building. El stripped her outer armor quickly and claimed a bunk, hanging her coat on a spike in the wood post at the head of the bed. She would head out to the small spring when it got darker and wash up a bit. In the meantime, she'd try for a nap despite the heat.

As happened quickly in the Approach, night and the temperature fell at the same time. El stood in the shadow of the shelter near the tepid spring hiding from everyone. She hadn't been able to forget the elves who attacked or the man who had drawn them to her. There was no question in her mind that Solas was ultimately their target.

It bothered her.

What did they want of Solas? Why did they think she could help them get it?

She sighed softly at the scrape of boots on the dirt, but she didn't turn. It wouldn't be an enemy tonight.

"You seem troubled," Jean's deep voice cut through the night.

El listened to the ancient song of some type of nightcrawler in the air before she answered. "I am."

"Bad break up?" She looked his way, her arm crossed over her chest in a new gesture she'd picked up, and couldn't resist the sly grin he threw her way.

"The worst," she answered. "It reaches a new low when your old guy's enemies want you dead."

"I don't think they want you dead as much as they want to draw out Solas."

She thought about that. "They think he'll come to rescue me. Well, that's ridiculous."

"Why?"

The dull, healed-over rips at the edge of her heart ached once again at the question. He didn't understand. No one did really. Perhaps, Cullen did, but he was a soldier and used to letting old wounds scab over. "He was nearly a god, Jean. I've had a lot of time to think. A being like that can't see us as anything but finite. I was... an indulgence. Nothing more."

She let her good arm fall to her side. "He felt mortal for a moment. It was a novelty. He won't come for me if it means endangering his plans."

"You seem so certain," he said moving to stand by her side.

"I feel certain," she said with more confidence perhaps than she had. "He's finished."

"Are you?" The question seemed to leap out of Jean's mouth. El stared his way thoughtfully. "I'm sorry." He looked away from her, then up at the sky blowing out a breath. "That was presumptuous."

"It was honest."

And, she liked that quite a lot. Honesty had become overnight a virtue she appreciated when she found it. Jean-Davin Timmons wanted an Inquisitor, perhaps? What an intriguing thought, she realized.

"I am in pieces, Jean. Does that mean I'm finished? I don't know for certain." She sighed again and returned to listening to the insects.

"Do you want to be finished?"

"Very much," she whispered. "He's placed himself beyond me now. He's something close to a god, Jean. He's literally the object of my childhood terrors. They told us cautionary tales about the Dread Wolf all my life, but even that couldn't have stopped me loving him if he hadn't betrayed this world. I don't... I never knew who he really was. I fell in love with a dream."

"I understand," he said from close behind her, and she felt his hand squeeze her shoulder.

El heard the unspoken offer, and she took it. Turning suddenly, she pressed herself into his chest. He smelled of dust, as did she, from the road, but beneath that lingered the scent clean sweat and leather. He blocked out some of the desert night chill, and his arms reached up to clasp her gently making her feel safe for the first time in a while. She felt she could rest. Someone else was on watch for her enemies for just a moment.

"I'm so tired, Jean."

"I know you are, Eliana. I know." The profound regret in his voice was like a balm on her soul. Here was a true friend. "You don't sleep soundly, you know. You toss and wake."

She nodded against his larger frame.

"Go, sleep, petite. I'll stand watch. You can rest tonight."

She looked up at him, about to protest, but he placed a finger across her lips catching softly on the bottom one. "Don't. My mind is too busy to sleep anyway. Go and sleep while you can."

She stepped away from him slowly, strangely reluctant to let go of the harbor she'd found. "Just until I fall asleep, Jean. You must rest, too."

He nodded, but why did she think that was a small dishonesty? He would stand watch anyway, she suspected. Simply because he'd accepted a duty. He was a Chevalier through and through.

She wandered back to her bunk still thinking of the warmth of his arms and the novelty of putting her heartache down for just a bit as he held her. Was it her imagination or did the ache seem duller than before?


	5. The Still Ruins

Inquisition troops stationed in the Approach had been assigned to harry the cultists for days, finally getting an advantage, they'd managed to catch them up in the Still Ruins and keep them there. Her small party joined the troops at the front gate of the besieged ruin.

"This isn't good," she said as they approached. It was the worst possible place to lose them. "Illusion will be gone. It's far too quiet."

Iron Bull flexed his shoulders. "Guess we're still going to walk into the hornet's nest, eh, Boss?"

She nodded. "Oh, we're going in, but Illusion won't be there."

"He left his fighting force to die?" Jean hadn't seen everything the rest of them had.

El slipped her blade out and stood staring at the door. "He won't care. Illusion can always seduce more followers. He might not escape us though and that's an easy choice for a demon. Bull, suggestions?"

"Only one way in, Boss. I say we just knock."

"It would be rude not to. We've come all this way," she quipped at him. This was what they did, she and the Iron Bull. They led from the front fearlessly. It was a strange leadership style for an elven mage, especially a crippled one, and she thought Bull was primarily responsible for it. Each of the Inquisition members had taught her something.

Bull wouldn't claim any special influence on her, but he had shaped the way she led her men. Cullen made sure they could fight. She pointed them toward the enemy, and Bull taught her to do that without flinching, without fear, and with minimal regret.

Bull took up his massive war ax and marched straight through the door, down the small courtyard and he leveled the barred doors with a few precise strokes of the fire enchanted weapon. The warriors poured in behind him shoving back any cultists they encountered. The archers slipped into the temple and went looking for cover on the high ground. The bladesmen, except for Jean, picked a target and headed for it. She followed them all dropping barriers wherever she could.

Anyone who broke the Charger's line headed straight for her. Jean had to move quickly to keep up with the sheer numbers of enemies focused on them. Eliana maintained a constant barrier over him as he fought. She mined the space just before him and behind her, and he pushed several of his opponents onto the runes killing them that way. They were becoming an efficient team on the battlefield, she thought.

By the time they'd cleared the main entrance of the temple, reinforcements had poured into the lower levels. Eliana's Chargers took to the damaged stairs moving down into the lower sections with Bull at the front. They were encountering minor demons as well as the cultists.

She noticed a rage demon headed for Bull on the lower level when she looked down and threw a cone wall at him freezing him in place for just enough time to allow Bull to swing his massive ax cleaving it in two.

The ring of steel in battle echoed through the chamber as they fought their way out the back to the open plaza in the center. El couldn't help but think back to the last time she'd been here. Demons littered the space, frozen still and suspended in time until she took the staff that kept them trapped.

This time the ruins were merely a campsite, a shelter from the enemy as the few cultists left hid from her forces in the Approach. It was a move she didn't entirely understand. Why would this demon be seeking a force to take one woman much as El loved that woman? Why would Illusion care about the Inquisition beyond the fact that it had something he apparently wanted?

Bull had two or three rounded up for questioning. Eliana took a breath as she recovered from that last mine spell. She doubted they'd even know anything. Any of the soldiers they'd caught fighting for Illusion yet had seemed deluded and confused, unable to adequately make their own decisions anymore. In a few of them, the damage appeared to be permanent. She didn't think they'd get much good intelligence from his human followers here in the Approach, but she might get something if he'd left clues behind. With that thought, Eliana ordered the men who were free to fan out and search the temple ruins for anything out of place. Anything.

Jean, she noticed, had not moved from the place where he recovered against a ruined wall. He grimaced as their eyes met, and the hesitant movement of his arm drew her attention. "Why didn't you say something?"

He pulled his hand back. "It's a scratch."

"And, I can heal it in moments. Give it."

The scolding in her voice clearly amused the man because she noted a slight quirk of his lips as he let her examine his hand. He let her fume and fuss a bit before he pressed a hand over hers on the wound which had disappeared. "We seem to be forever patching one another up."

"And what do you suppose that means?"

He smiled at her and started to speak, but the call of "Inquisitor" echoed through the chamber as a soldier made his way to them carrying a book. It seemed old and there was something about it that made Jean wish to look away. It was clear every human in the vicinity felt the same and only the humans. Eliana took the book in hand with no problem.

"It's covered in magic," she said as she opened it. Jean watched as she carefully read a few of the pages.

"You understand?"

"Not exactly," she replied. "It's ancient, this dialect. I don't know if I'm correct, but it refers to the door several times. I don't know what that means."

"Eluvian?" Jean-Davin had heard them discussed frequently.

She shook her head at his question. "I've seen that word in ancient Elven. No, this isn't that." She looked at the young soldier. "Where was this located?"

"It was in one of the side chambers, Inquisitor. Along with a conspicuous amount of treasure, your worship."

"Treasure?"

"Coin and jewels."

Jean heard the Inquisitor echo his own thoughts just then. "Why would a demon need treasure?"

"To feed an army, your worship?" The boy spoke hesitantly, but it was as good a guess as any.

"Possibly," she replied.

Jean waited for everyone to leave before he gave his contribution. "An army, your worship, or a purchase of something very dear."

She looked at him with those piercing blue-green eyes brightly shining. "Why do you say that, Jean?"

"Because the Western Approach has very little in it to be sought or exploited. Very little indeed, but it's a good place to hide. Especially for those running from Orlais."

"You have someone in mind."

"An old friend from my childhood. I did not dream he could still be alive, but then, he was an Elf. It is possible I never knew his true age. He was a … connoisseur and collector of antiquities."

"You know him, how?"

Jean swallowed his fear. She needed to know this, and it literally killed two birds with one stone; the need for information and this thing, whatever it was, between the two of them.

"As a boy, I stole for him." Her surprise showed plainly. "He remained always firmly on the wrong side of the law, and eventually was forced to flee the Capitol."

"What did you steal?"

"I … He ran a crew that burgled the houses of rich, Orlesian nobles with far more coin than principles."

"Ah, and that was attractive to you." Jean watched her slow smile grow into a full grin as if she pictured the boy he had been and was amused by him. "Striking at the nobles of Orlais."

He nodded. "I suppose it was. His name was Gemen. No one knew any more about him than that."

"What do you believe he can do, this Gemen?"

"I think he could potentially identify that book, for one thing."

"And, can he read it?"

"I don't know," Jean told her. "But, if he knows nothing, we've wasted only a day's ride."

She nodded his way. "All right, Jean. Take me to this Gemen."

He tried to quell the need to smile at the words. He attempted to erase the way she made him feel with that quick trust and acceptance, but it was impossible. Suddenly, a mystery he'd long pondered became clear to him at last. This was why the men he respected most followed this woman.

She made every small service worth doing with a smile, a touch or a word. She led her men as a fierce warrior who laughed in the face of danger, but she also directed them all with soft praise and genuine gratitude.

Jean watched her walk away from him and wondered how in all of Thedas he'd ended up fighting for the savior of the world. If you'd asked him four years ago, he'd have said it couldn't happen, but then he'd not met El yet.

Gemen stilled plied his questionable trade, but he did it completely outside the reach of the Orlesian authorities from the Approach. Beneath all the sand and winding hills of the Western Approach, there were old mines long abandoned, and he ran his runners from there.

Deciding they didn't want to spook the locals, Jean led a party of only four out into the desert, including Eliana, Bull and Krem. As they neared the cliff side where Underwood was located, he felt more than one pair of eyes on them. Gemen ran an operation that might make Leliana envious, dealing in stolen goods and the occasional blackmail scheme.

The closer they drew to the cave entrance of the old mine, the closer the eyes watching them would draw. Jean doubted Gemen had changed his methods much over the years. At the base of the cliff, he stopped their small party.

Dismounting his horse, he worked an old red handkerchief from his saddlebag.

A pole stood out a bit from the cliffs, and Jean knew that would be the door they were meant to knock. It was an old trick of every smuggler since the beginning of time. He took a stick and draped the red kerchief over it as he walked toward the pole. Taking a run at the thing, he jumped and caught his weight with an "oof". He was getting a bit old to be climbing poles in the desert heat, but he crawled his way the short distance to the top. There was, as expected, at the top of the pole a clip fashioned for just this purpose. He didn't even need the stick. He clipped the bright red band of cloth to the pole and slid down to the sand.

"Now what?" The Iron Bull said as he leaned over his saddle horn to peer at the horizon.

"Now, we make camp and wait. We've knocked on the door. It's up to them to decide to answer."

Eliana slid a sly look his way from the back of her hart. "Let me guess, Gemen is a Jenny."

Jean barked a laugh and kicked at the dirt. "You'll meet him soon enough, but, to hear him tell it, he's the only Jenny. The rest are amateurs."

She smiled. "Shame we didn't bring Sera this trip. That would have diminished the boredom somewhat."

Bull chuckled at Eliana's joke. "Boss, if the constant threat of ambush and demon cults can't entertain you, we're going to have to find bigger fish."

She laughed along at the joke, but Jean saw the subtle pinch about her eyes. He wondered that no one else noticed the tense stance she took as she dismounted or the new downward slope of her shoulders. Nor did they see the way she leaned into the great beast she rode and sought his comfort.

"Easy Fin," she whispered as he neared her to take the animal.

"There's a stream nearby," he said to her back. "I'll take the animals to water. You stay near Bull."

Over her shoulder, she threw a flashing glare his way. "I'm not helpless."

"No one's ever called you that in my hearing. I have heard them remark on your importance frequently, especially as I was given my orders, so you will stay near the Iron Bull. Please, and thank you."

He gathered up the reins of both their horses and went for Bull's who'd already pulled out his bedroll and gear. The Qunari dropped his equipment on the rocky canyon floor. "The Inquisitor looks less than pleased."

"She is less than pleased."

The Qunari studied her a moment as she began gathering kindling for the fire. "I don't think I've ever seen her quite that angry," Bull said matter-of-factly.

Jean looked back at her over his shoulder. "Never? What about the thing with Corypheus?"

Bull seemed to study her as he unsaddled his mount. Making a cluck with his tongue, he answered, "Nope. She was pretty scared then. The best soldiers are, honestly. No, she's pretty seriously pissed. Notice the way she's practically slamming across the sand. Yeah, that's new."

Jean narrowed his eyes to her slight form and studied her again. He did detect a stiffness to her movements that wasn't normally there. "What about when Solas…?"

"Nope. That was hurt, the cut of a fresh wound. This is something else."

Shaking his head, he took Bull's mount and went to get the last. Damned if he knew what he could have done that could be worse than potentially ending the world. He'd never understood women, but this one was a whole new kind of puzzle. He looked back at the Iron Bull as he drew the mounts down the canyon floor toward the water.

If Bull noticed all that about his friend, then surely he'd seen her tense after his joke earlier. Was he treating her like a fellow soldier and ignoring the wound she still carried? They couldn't all do that. Someone had to help her carry the pain.

He snorted at his own arrogance as he said to himself, "And I suppose you think that's you, Timmons."


	6. Gemen

Gemen waited until near dawn broke the sky above them into yellow-green streaks. Jean dozed lightly the whole night as he awaited his old mentor's appearance and let his mind wander where it wanted in his waking moments. It amazed him how often his mind went to the woman wrapped up in furs on the other side of the fire.

Bull was right, he admitted it. She was really pissed though he still didn't know just what he'd done to bring on her temper so. He'd made a misstep somewhere. As the morning air hit its coolest, he stared up at the stars and wondered about Solas. What sort of man condemned a world, yet continued to pursue his love? What kind of man had he been to win the heart of the Herald only to crush it?

He heard the crunch of steps on the rock long before he saw the group of men approaching their camp. Gemen wanted him to know he was coming. That was a good sign for if the elder elf wanted them dead they'd have never greeted the morning.

He rose from his furs and reached for his belt to strap it on as he walked out to meet Gemen who wasn't much changed. His white hair was still the color of the first snows around Skyhold as he shuffled toward them bent over a rough-hewn staff and followed by a guard of four ragged mercenaries. He'd always said he far more trusted a man to work for coin than for loyalty or bonds of brotherhood.

"Gemen," he nodded toward the older elf. He didn't use traditional greetings because Gemen had rejected his people as they had, he believed, rejected him long ago.

"Jean-Davin. Time has passed for us both, it seems."

"It has. We've come seeking your knowledge of Elven antiquities."

The man leaned more heavily forward. "This is the second such request I've had for this knowledge recently."

"This is not a surprise. I suspect you will recognize the object, an Elven book of lore."

"That cannot be a coincidence. You have the Book of the Wolf?"

Jean paused a moment. "Wolf. The dread wolf? The book is about the dread wolf?"

"Of course, it is. It's the only thing that makes everything make sense."

The Inquisitor's voice shook behind him, and he turned his head slightly her way. He didn't need to look to know there would be open sorrow on her features as she faced another piece of her personal nightmare.

It wasn't the first time that he'd wished he could shield her, but there was nothing to be done. She carried the old tome in her hand as she approached Gemen. "Why would a demon want this book?"

Gemen cast a disturbed glance Jean's way. "I would be guessing."

It was Eliana who answered him. "Your guess beats mine. You've read this. What would a demon want with a book like this?"

"What was the nature of the demon?"

"Illusion. Lies."

"Ah," Gemen said seeming to decide that he would help. "Let us sit by your fire, Herald, and I will make as accurate a guess as I can." His guards remained within reach but outside the campfire circle as Bull and Krem were awakened by the arrival of guests.

"For Illusion, there must be truth. I know that sounds contradictory, but beneath everything, he is a knower of truth. It is the root of his power, knowing truths."

"He can read minds?" El asked him.

"Minds, futures, intentions, weaknesses. His power lies in the core of truth at the bottom of every soul, what they are, what they are meant to be. Otherwise, he could not twist that truth so efficiently. He managed to obscure himself to me very well." Gemen spoke as if in awe of the demon's abilities.

"You are a mage, I take it," El said. "How could he deceive you about his nature at the very least?"

"Very carefully, young one. Very carefully." He shifted his staff to rest his hands upon it and his knee, rubbing the limb as though it ached. "The man who approached the Jenny's network wanted only part of the book translated, and I had to admit to him that my knowledge was woefully inadequate to the task as it is written in a dialect so ancient that it barely resembles our own or that of our oldest ancestors."

"Let me take a guess of my own," El said giving a brisk laugh. "It was about the magic that Fen' Harel worked to raise the veil. He wanted clues to how it was done so he could tear it down because it's a lie. How am I doing?"

Gemen lifted a single index finger. "It's a lie and not one of his making, but, yes, those are the facts I believe to be the truth. Demons want the color of this world, the flavor of it, but they are muted here. Their power is diminished on this side of the veil. If, however, the fade were to join with our world once again, they might believe they could have everything as it should be."

"It does explain a lot about why demons seek ways into our world. So, illusion wants the veil removed and the Fade released. The line forms behind Solas apparently." She mumbled the last sentence. "What did he learn?"

"The book explained foci and their making, but that kind of magic is no longer possible. The ancient elves used many methods to form them for their great works, but that kind of magic is gone. It cannot be done."

Eliana snorted her derision at the statement. "Famous last words. It can be done somehow."

The old elf argued, "It cannot. The tome contained only references to an uncommon magic. Something matching the essence of the Fade."

Eliana didn't speak for long moments until everyone around the fire had finally noticed her silence. "Sweet gods. Oh, no."

"What, El? What is it?"

"I know where he thinks he's found it. I know what he wanted. We have to get home."

They didn't stop riding until they had to, and the Chargers who could run faster pushed ahead because she suspected Skyhold and the surrounding area would need to be scouted thoroughly. El prayed she was wrong, but she knew in her bones she wasn't.

Falon who glowed with the energy of pure spirit and Cullen who had drained the magic of the mark as it tried to explode into the world taking her and her people with it. They both had pieces of Fade in them. Somehow.

Cullen's young wife had no history. She could be descended from any of the old "gods". She could be one in a long line, and her child maybe even more powerful considering Cullen's attempt to save the world.

Eliana found herself praying to any deity who would listen as they tore through the night to reach their mountain fortress. She whispered her supplications the entire way, and, as she stood on the cliff's edge looking down on the fortress entryway.

Krem scouted ahead and reported cultists massing in the valley. El sat upon Finril's back weighing her options knowing there would be only one.

"We run for it."

Bull shifted uneasily in the saddle. "Yep. That bridge will be Skyhold's only defense against this many mages."

"We take and hold that bridge," she agreed.

Bull nodded. "Heavies stay back and guard the runners. We won't make it across before we engage anyway." Bull cut his gaze to Krem. "You'll take your usual scouting party and clear a path for the Inquisitor."

"Already done, Boss."

"El, how far can you cast?"

She saw his thought before he said it. "We'd be completely cut off."

"Right, and Skyhold would be safe."

"Illusion has to die here. That has to be a priority."

"It will be the front line's priority. Your priority will be to close the doors behind us. Aim for the shallow part of the valley."

"Bull, it's insane."

The Qunari looked at the reins in his hand. "Boss, do you see any other options? Tactically, I mean." He sighed. "I know in the old days this was the part where you threw up a big Fade screw you and sent them all where they came from, but we can't do that anymore."

"You mean, I can't. I can't do that anymore."

He nodded. "There are too many and you know it. You get in. You close the door and lock it behind you, and you send for reinforcements. You get Cassandra on it, and you stay alive."

"And you?"

"You know me, Boss. I'm gonna find the biggest thing out there and kill it."

"Bull, I swear if you die I'm gonna raise your ass and kill you again."

His familiar booming laugh rang out in the early morning stillness of a mountain with far too many predators on it to be noisy.

Bull nodded once. "Krem get her home." He raised his ax in one hand. "Heavies with me. Everyone else with the Inquisitor."

She trembled. They were splitting their force and the bulk of the Chargers were going with her and Krem across the bridge to Skyhold. It was the last situation any commander wanted to be in.

With those last orders, the forces gathered up as if they'd done it a million times, and she supposed they had, and she watched the Iron Bull charge off to clear a path through the force trying to reinforce its position on this side of the great chasm leading into Skyhold.


	7. Faith

Eliana pushed her barriers to their limits as they fought their way through the small army of cultists on the ageless bridge to Skyhold. As she protected the group she rode with, she realized Jean had veered away as soon as her group passed the place where both fighting forces clashed together at the mouth of the bridge. 

She let Finril run as he often wished to, as she and Bull had agreed, and she stayed behind Krem as he and the others surrounded her, protecting her. Krem shouted up at the guards manning the gate and the gears began to grind their way down. She hated running away. It left a bad taste like ashes in her mouth.

El threw a glance back over her shoulder. The warriors of the Chargers were holding their own forming an unbreakable wall at the mouth of the bridge. She saw the enemies newest reinforcements arrive though, and her heart burned at the inevitability of her choice. 

Damn Bull for his annoying tendency to be right. The separated Chargers would never clear enough of the enemy to retreat across the bridge to Skyhold’s gate. Finril was pounding through the gate into the courtyard even as Krem shouted up at the gatekeeper, “Close it, damn you.”

The soldier only hesitated a second before rushing to turn the wheel. El listened to the sound of the gate creaking back into place as she dismounted Fin and ran for the stairs taking her up to the battlements. Mages lined the wall above the entry point. 

She could see Bull tearing through his enemies clearly from here, but she realized with a small sound she could also see Jean as he danced around his own. Damn it, she thought without fully reasoning why. He’d chosen to delay the enemy. 

The Charger’s line was about to break and they’d be forced back on the bridge. She had to act now. “Magi!” Her voice rang out along the line. “I’ll set the target. You fire on my order.” With that, she threw out a beacon spell that placed a glowing white pillar of light at just the weakest point of the far side of the structure. The light stretched up to disappear somewhere in the sky. 

She took one more look at the men fighting and dying for her on the far side of the gully, and shouted to the mages all in a line, “Fire!” And, they did. 

*

Eliana had continued to lob spell after spell at the edge of her range. She’d fought as hard as she could for her men, as they had fought for her. She thought in all the confusion she’d caused with her magic, she’d bought them a chance, but they just couldn't be sure.

Bull could no longer be seen and as night descended on the mountain, they could make out the cultist army burning the dead on giant pyres. It was impossible to watch without wondering who would be among them. Cullen had joined her on the ramparts. 

“Well, it would appear we are under siege.”

“So, it would seem, Commander,” she replied with a weariness she hadn’t felt in some time. Jean and Bull were out there somewhere, but she wouldn’t know for some time in what state. If they survived, they wouldn’t go far. “Whatever are we to do now?”

Cullen replied like a seasoned Templar soldier. “Now, we see how strong our bonds to the people of Thedas. Now, we find out who our friends are.”

No truer words had ever been spoken. She’d saved the world. It was time for the world to return the favor for her people. They’d been preparing for every possible scenario, and this one was no exception. 

“Your mountain rangers are ready?”

“They are, Inquisitor. We sent them down the cliff face an hour ago. They’ve cleared the first aerie. One more and they’ll reach the new tunnels.”

“Well done, Cullen. Once those dispatched riders reach our allies it will be in Fate’s hands.”

“True enough.” He studied her carefully. “Our men know their jobs, Inquisitor. Bull knows what to do and where to go.”

“If they made it.”

“They made it,” he told her with conviction. “Now, in the meantime, I need to know what you’ve learned.”

They made their way along the ramparts to Cullen’s tower where Eliana would hopefully only need to tell her tale once before she would be allowed to find her bed. The weary work of chasing their enemies had left her feeling leaden and dull. 

*

Jean and Bull had been forced to abandon their mounts as had the other ten or so men and women of the Chargers. They’d made their way down a steep goat path to the valley below where they had taken refuge among the trees for some time observing the enemy and being very sure they hadn’t been followed. 

The demon’s army of gullible humans appeared once again to be focused on starving out the Inquisition. Something that couldn’t happen for months. Cullen was meticulous in his planning for an attack on the stronghold. Jean limped bit from taking a grazing cut to the leg, and there were no mages among their number. He would have to heal the old fashioned way. 

Bull insisted he had a plan for them as he led them down into the thick pine forest. As they walked, it became clear Bull was winding their course to throw off trackers. Finally, he led them into a modest cave carved out of the cliff face and covered with netting and camouflage in the form of brambles and bushes strung to hid the entrance. 

He had indeed had a plan. Inside, there was a supply cache and a fire pit though they wouldn’t dare use it this night. Thankfully, it wasn’t that cold, but it would be by the time that the opposing army could be defeated and the bridge repaired. 

Bull heaved himself down on a rock far back in the cave. “I figure we have a month to defeat that army before it becomes imperative to get supplies into Skyhold. They have a lyrium stockpile at least, but, there are still things they would need to get out of the fortress to gather or buy. We aren’t completely self-sustaining… Yet.”

Jean stretched his burning leg. The elfroot potion had taken the edge off the pain as well as helped a bit with the wound. “Do we camp or keep moving?”

Bull turned dark eyes on Jean. “Do you honestly think you could go anywhere tonight? You’re as bad as the boss. Hit the hay, bladesman. We’ll have hard work to do tomorrow.”

Jean didn’t argue. He imagined this was what a training dummy would feel if it could come to life after a training session with Iron Bull. His body was one large bruise. He needed sleep to heal. 

*

Eliana blinked once and realized immediately that she was in the Fade. It wasn’t unusual, however, she did not care for it anymore. She surveyed her location. It was Haven as it was, as she was rebuilding it. She stepped forward into the fog of the morning that would embrace the hills around the town. 

“El?” The voice was Jean’s. He strolled calmly up to her. The chantry bell began to ring prayers. It was indeed early in the Fade. 

“Jean?” She sensed that he wasn’t just a manifestation. He was really here. “How is this possible?”

He spread his arms by his side. “You tell me. The Fade, oui? I thought I couldn’t travel here.”

“You shouldn’t be able to unless I brought you here. It’s not supposed to be possible, but wait….” Comprehension dawned. “You’re alive! Bull?”

Sympathy touched his features, she thought, as he answered her. “He lives as well. There are a good dozen of us, but we’ve little hope for more stragglers. We’re in the mountains at a supply drop.”

“Thank the Gods.” 

He cocked his head to the side. “Now, it appears we have another mystery to solve. Why would I be here, El?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I must have wanted you.” Her cheeks heated as she realized what she had just said. “I mean…. I must have….” She covered her face. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“I don’t know. Does it need to be fixed, your worship?” Her eyes snapped up from the ground. The way he’d just said your worship had left a tingle low in her body. It hadn’t been neutral or unfeeling. The honorific had sounded like a promise, but she didn’t want to make assumptions. 

“I suppose not,” she whispered. “I’m a bad bet, Jean.”

He smiled absently. “I’m a bad gambler.”

“Oh,” she murmured. They each studied the other in silence for some moments until Eliana shook her head to rouse herself. “We’re preparing for siege. We’ve dispatched a few messengers to our allies, and we’re awaiting their response.”

“How in Andraste’s name did you get messengers out?”

She grinned. “Cullen’s been working on a secret advantage. He has a small scout troupe that’s been learning to scale the cliff faces around Skyhold. They departed through the undercroft yesterday.”

“The undercroft! That’s insanely risky. Leave it to Cullen to turn insanity to his advantage. I suppose Falon has been good for him.”

She chuckled. “He’s remarkably lucid considering.” She sobered some and finished, “There are too few of you. The best thing you can do is seek out help then take cover.”

“That’s not going to happen, Inquisitor.” He sounded unmistakably angry. It reminded her that she was still mad at him. Her worry had made her forget.

“If I make that an order?”

He stepped into her space. “Then I will be resigning my position. There you go, I no longer work for you, your worship.”

She rubbed the fingers of her remaining hand on her chest. “Whatever will you do with your time?”

“I imagine I’ll be chasing a woman across all of Thedas. It appears to be the pastime.”

She turned away from him. His honesty left her nowhere to hide. “I don’t need to be chased, or coddled for that matter.”

“You’re right,” he raised his voice moving still closer. “You need to be protected. How are you this blind?” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Woman, you are important, vital. You must survive.”

“For what purpose, Jean?” Frantic fear slipped over her skin leaving the hair on her neck standing at attention. “Why? I got us into this. He led me just where he wanted me each step of the way. I did this. Why am I important beyond that? Because I’m correcting my mistakes?”

“No!” He squeezed her shoulders. “It would have been so much worse had you not interfered. According to Cullen, you stole his key, and then you beat Corypheus with it. Solas set that in motion, not you. You stopped the worst of it.”

“We haven’t seen the worst of it!” Her panic rose in her chest forcing her breaths in and out like a bellows blowing. At least, that's how it sounded to her ears. “Have you given none of this any thought? What happens when he drops the veil? What happens?”

Jean looked around them. “I don’t know.”

“That’s right. You don’t know. You’ve never been here.”

“This is my point, petite. You will be the one who stops him, and I will be by your side, as will Bull and the Divine, and Cullen and Falon. You aren’t alone.”

“Of course, I’m alone,” she whispered. “I’ll lose everyone I’ve ever cared for, and I’ll be alone. I’ve walked it before, and The Fade won’t kill me. It will only make me wish for death.” Terror overwhelmed her at the sight of the future she saw in her head each time she closed her eyes. She shut them now, but she couldn’t fight the flow of tears quietly coursing down her cheeks. 

Helpless. She felt completely useless and helpless as she met stern brown eyes. He was so close, and so vividly alive, even here in the Fade where everything was muted and void. Stubble painted his strong jaw, and his brow furrowed in worry. 

She’d seen that on another face, in another time, but she reminded herself that he’d been lying to her. He worried as much about discovery as her. This man could go at any time. Nothing held him here. He could find another place anywhere, yet he followed Cullen. He protected her. 

“I need to be stronger,” she said to him flatly. 

“You couldn’t be stronger, El.” His voice sounded brittle in her ears. “Your enemies know it, and that’s why you need to rely on the ones who love you.”

The words stung, but they rang true as well. “Love me?”

“Yes,” he said then smiled sadly at her. “Skyhold loves you. Cullen, Falon, Bull, I….” He paused. She prayed to every deity she knew that he’d not finish that sentence. It was too soon. “I’ve seen it.” 

She inhaled her relief. This thing that was happening between them was badly timed. “Where were you three years ago?”

He shrugged. “On my way here.”

Something clicked into place for her. His faith. He had such faith. Surely, she could meet that faith with strength. She’d seldom in her life been such a coward. 

Tipping herself up on her toes, she pressed a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. Even here, she felt it, and he did as well because he deepened the kiss, pressed further, took more. 

She sighed into the kiss as it washed away the burning memory of another kiss in the Fade. Their kiss slowly ebbed, and Jean pulled away to say, “Goodnight, your worship.”

She woke in the darkness of her own room with the warmth of a kiss on her mouth. El pressed her fingers to that mouth as she replayed the memory. 

Faith. 

Would that be what saved them all?


	8. What if?

A week passed and then another.

Illusion massed more and more converts outside the gates. He was rebuilding the bridge with his own army as the residents of Skyhold watched. The demon was apparently impatient to get to his prey.

The war room was no longer the hub of the army. Cullen's tower had become more and more the location of their strategy sessions and occasional private talks with Cullen over a drink. Tonight, that drink was ale brewed from their own crops as El stared absently into the small fire they'd added. "What troubles you so, Eliana?"

She smiled up at him before taking another swallow. "Nothing new, I suppose."

Losing herself in her thoughts again, she wondered if Cullen would satisfy her curiosity. She watched him as he mirrored her own long stare at the flames. "Cullen," she said. "Do you remember the night… the night at the Winter Palace? You drained my mark."

"I won't forget that night. Why do you ask about that night?"

"Did my mark… Did it do anything to you? Would you tell me if it had changed you somehow?"

He thoughtfully asked her, "Changed me?"

"Perhaps your Templar abilities. I don't know. It's part of a theory Jean and I came up with. He wants Falon for her magic. We think he wants me for my old connection to the mark. If you absorbed enough of it, would he want you as well?"

His eyes darted toward the small spiral stairs leading up to where Falon slept, even now. "She… says I feel different lately."

"Feel?"

He blushed uncomfortably. "You've been in a relationship of this kind. Magic has a … feel to it. Falon reads all of it. We just thought I was improving since quitting lyrium."

Reminded of Solas even if it were only in passing, she nodded without replying. She did know the feeling of magic on her skin between presses of flesh. It wasn't something one was likely to forget easily. Strangely though, the face she pictured at the moment wasn't Solas'. It was Jean.

"What if it's more? What if the three of us, with our unique connection to the Fade, are just what he needs to tear open the veil?"

"If that is correct, then we'll have to kill him. He'll never leave us in peace otherwise."

"That's certainly true, but what has that connection to the Fade made of us, do you think?"

Cullen openly studied her a moment."What made you think of this?"

"Jean?"

Now, he looked truly puzzled. "Jean-Davin? What has he to do with it?"

"I've pulled him into the Fade twice now without any conscious intention."

He sat forward, elbows on his knees. "How is that possible?"

"If I knew, I'd stop. As it is, I'm just left to wonder how and why."

"You believe you're connected somehow, despite the loss of … ."

"My hand, yes. I think this demon thinks we are different, special because of our contact to the Fade. Perhaps he doesn't know about you as a possibility. Perhaps he just believes it's Falon and myself. Either way, he's coming for us."

"So, you've been pulling Jean into the Fade. How exactly?"

He swirled the pale liquid in his glass and watched it, giving her space to answer the question without his input if she needed it.

"The Gods only know. I dream my way into the Fade and he shows up there. When he shouldn't. He isn't a mage and has no known connection to the Fade itself. It makes no sense."

"And, you don't think his connection as you call it could be through you?"

"How, Cullen? How would that be?"

He smiled softly as he took a sip. "You don't see any possibility?"

"No, I…." El studied his face. "Are you matchmaking, Cullen Rutherford?"

"Not matchmaking," he protested a bit too vehemently for her comfort. "But you two do seem to have become… comfortable with each other. What else could be the connection? Could he have latent magic?"

El thought that over for a second. "I suppose that's one possible explanation, but a latent mage? At his age? Have we ever heard of such a thing?"

"I haven't," Cullen answered. "But that doesn't mean it hasn't happened."

Eli sighed.

"Nothing about any of this makes sense, Cullen."

"It doesn't. Not really. We're having drinks with the enemy at the gates, and my pregnant wife is sleeping upstairs. No, nothing in the world is right at this moment."

Eli felt a pinch surround her heart as his face settled into the stoic mask he wore in hopeless situations. Cullen was her closest friend in the world, and her life had pretty much disintegrated his own from a certain perspective.

"I'm sorry," she said barely loud enough to be heard.

Surprised, he said to her, "For what? Lavellan, none of this was put into motion by you. You've been just as caught in this web as the rest of us. The only difference is the remarkable way you turned it upon your enemy."

She snorted unpleasantly. "I slept with our enemy, Rutherford."

He chided her. "You didn't. Eli, you loved a man. You loved a man we all trusted with our lives each and every day. That's not wrong."

"It was the wrong man."

"Love is seldom wrong, only sometimes more damaging." He smiled toward the staircase. "When I think of how I bemoaned my feelings for Solona Amell, and yet, they were nothing to what I currently feel for Falon. It brought me to her, despite the pain of it and the hatred I felt upon leaving for Kirkwall. As bad as it all was, it brought me to her, and I can never regret that." He met her eyes in the dim lantern light. "You must keep hold of that faith of yours, Eliana, that this will lead you to something so far superior that you can only be grateful for the pain."

"It's never that simple."

"It is, but I know you don't believe without seeing. One day, you will see. I have faith enough for us both."

But who was to say?, she thought to herself. Placing her glass carefully on the table between them, she stood and stretched the long hours of sitting away. "Perhaps I can try to sleep now."

"Yes," Cullen agreed.

She left the office to walk the balustrade in the near darkness, nothing to light the way but the occasional torchlight or guardsman's lantern as they walked their rounds.

Breathing in the clean mountain air, she walked slowly toward the chamber she hated most. It was the shortest way to her rooms, and, for some wild, masochistic reason, she wanted to feel the pain tonight. She wanted to look it in its face and call it by name.

Her footsteps padded along the stone pathway making only the slightest of noise as she walked the too-short distance. A soldier on guard saluted her as she walked by, and she acknowledged him politely. A strange peace seemed to cloak Skyhold up here where you could not see the enemy's fires. Much like her own demeanor with everyone around her, it was a false peace.

She reached for the latch on the door and held it a moment, taking in a deep steadying breath, and forcing herself to face this archdemon of her mind once and for all.

She flipped the latch and pushed.

It was the same room, but for the freshened frescoes on the walls. Something about the room's rounded design utilized the golden lamplight to the fullest when they were all lit. However, tonight, there were shadows in the dark here for there was only a small lantern or two at each entrance; only enough light for the guards as they passed this way, just enough light to see the past by the banked glow of the coals in the fire.

She approached the large desk that was the centerpiece of the room. It still stood as a monument to her innocence, as did the wing-backed monstrosity of a chair where he once sat and drank tea he didn't like when he was troubled.

This had, for a time, been the Dread Wolf's lair, and she could now see it for what it was. Here, Solas had studied every book of lore Skyhold possessed, and he had done it with the aim of dooming her world to save his own. She wanted to imagine some nights where he ruthlessly discarded tome after tome, desperately searching for a way to preserve her life. She wanted to believe this had been his torment.

She wanted to, but she didn't.

Eliana ran a long, graceful finger along the spine of a book on the desk. Even were it true, it hadn't been enough to turn him from his path, had it? That was all that mattered. He would condemn her with all of Thedas for she would die fighting the fall of the veil.

A muffled boom cracked somewhere beyond the stone of the room, then raised voices chorused along the hall outside. El ran to the entrance to throw it open.

The night watch was headed for her chambers. "Soldier! Here."

"Inquisitor,"he said in blatant relief at not having to roust his commander out of a warm bed. "Something happened in the enemy camp."

Something explosive, she would wager. "Let's go."

The boy raced with her down the steps and across the courtyard. She made it to the top of the balustrade among a host of guards and mages moving into position, hastily wakened and hastily dressed. Some missing armor in their rush to man the walls.

"Inquisitor," the officer of the watch said with a salute. "It looks as though their bridge repair isn't going so well." The tall, dark-skinned native of Ferelden grinned widely at her in undisguised glee.

She took his looking-glass to train it on the bridge which was once again a smoking ruin. Fighting clearly took precedence over the fire spreading along the large sculpted beams of the replacement. She smiled herself at the sight.

"Mages," she called. "That's no accident. Prepare yourselves." Once again, she stared through the scope. Heavy troops in complete armor fought with the small force that harried the invaders, then ran. It was clearly guerrilla-style tactics. "Focus fire on the western troop line! Fire at will. Distract and disable."

The Magi opened fire in exactly the right way to allow the hit and run force to get away. She watched carefully as her men climbed a mountainous hillside in the darkness, scurrying away from their pursuers. She thought at one point she saw a single figure stop as he traipsed along the rocky hillside and turn back to lift a gloved hand into the air. It left her to wonder if he felt her gaze on him from this far away, or if he simply knew her tactics and routine enough to guess where she'd be.

Somehow she knew that jaunty wave had been meant for her. Her men were fighting back for them, keeping them all safe, but this one, in particular, had acknowledged her.

She noticed cultists slipping along the path on the other side of the chasm. Drawing magic up within her, she handed the scope to the officer beside her. Chain lightning wouldn't have to be precise, she decided and lobbed the spell across to land in the rough area of the troops following Jean. Most of them would be out for a while, giving them plenty of opportunity to get away. That was all they needed: A chance.

The magi kept the fight going as long as they could distracting the cultists, and, when it was all over, the bridge was in ruins and the demon's unwitting army in temporary disarray. Dawn was a rosy blush on the horizon before Eliana sought her own bed, and the rest of Skyhold bustled about as usual as if anxious over the events of the night.


	9. He knows.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As we near the end, Eliana discovers a few hard truths about her connections to the Fade.

The siege of Skyhold was dragging on and on, and Jean Davin was worried. He paced the small cave entrance of their encampment and watched the golden glow of sunrise lift itself over the hill.   
He was closer to finding them reinforcements. The Inquisitor was not without friends. The Montilyets had sent two full mercenary companies, and Orlais had a contingent on the way. He’d know how valuable the Inquisition’s friendship was to their homeland once the troops arrived. Many had wanted them disbanded, and this looked to those players like an answered prayer.   
“Jean,” Iron Bull said as he handed him a tin cup filled with coffee.   
He hadn’t heard the spy approach, and that should worry him. Jean found himself distracted as the days crept by. He watched the sunlight brush the trees below with light.   
“Do you think she’s all right?”  
“She? The boss?” Iron Bull laughed. “I think she’s furious and restless and throwing spells over the battlements in frustration.”  
Jean smiled. She would be.   
“So, you two…?”  
Jean cut the other man a look. His craggy face often hid his sly intentions behind an affable smile, but this time he seemed truly concerned. “We two? What?”  
“You definitely have something going with the Inquisitor, but damned if I can tell what it is.”  
Jean snorted a laugh. “You wouldn’t be alone in that. She’s wounded, Bull. It is what it is.”  
Bull sighed into his coffee and took a sip. When he finished, he held the cup in two hands. “We got a bird about an hour past. The Orlesians will arrive at Skyhold in two days' time. The Antivan troops are camped in the valley behind the ridge.”  
“Any word from the Chantry?”  
“Not yet,” Bull said. “We may have to charge with what we have.”  
“Is it enough?”  
“It may have to be.”  
*  
Eliana was losing her mind.   
She stabbed at the dummy one more time to drive her point home that she wasn’t to be trifled with.   
She’d been studying the book of the wolf for weeks and consulting with every scholar in their ranks. They all agreed that the demon wanted to use her for a focus for his magic. It was the only possible explanation.   
Right now, there was absolutely nothing she could do but wait, and it made her crazy. El threw the blade into the dummy and grinned grimly as it stuck beautifully in the straw man’s throat. Her chamber door slid open.   
Cullen stood at the foot of the stair as she came round to see. Looking up at her with grave eyes, he informed her, “There’s been a change.”  
She pulled on her vest and followed Cullen without a word.   
They made their way through the packed hall and out into the crisp air of the courtyard before he said anything. It meant that whatever he did have to say was of incredible significance.   
“Antivan troops are converging on the bridge.”  
“Remind me to send Josie a thank you card. Is that all?”  
Cullen continued as he dodged a hurrying servant. “The Empress has sent a few troops, and they’ve coordinated with Iron Bull to flank the enemy at roughly the same moment.”  
“That’s not much, Cullen,” she replied.   
“I know” was his only response.   
Cullen’s war room was filled with his officers until there was little room left. He nodded to the men. “Gentlemen,” he began. “For better or worse, this ends tomorrow. There are allies marching on the cultists as we speak, and we need to come up with a battle plan.”  
El listened to each of her soldiers as they spoke, realizing Skyhold could do little more than they’d already been doing. They could attack at range, archers and mages. With the bridge down, they couldn’t move the bulk of their troops out.   
“What of the troops you recalled from Orlais?” Eliana asked.   
Cullen looked at her. “Still three days ride, but the light units will be here sooner. They were sent on ahead.”  
She nodded absently. The briefing buzzed around her without her noticing. Oh, she had already gone over the situation countless times with her commander. It wasn’t like she would garner new information. She let her mind wander over something that had been bothering her.  
When the officers were dismissed, she finally spoke the thought aloud. “Why would Illusion not seek out Solas? Their goal is the same however he feels about demons.”  
Cullen met her eyes briefly. “Fear? They are natural enemies, right?”  
She gave a short nod. “Solas seemed to see demons almost as injured animals. I doubt he’d trust one as an ally, but he would see their goals as similar. In fact, Solas would see himself as helping Illusion. Presumably, Illusion would no longer be corrupted if he could fully rejoin the Fade.”  
“So why have we seen no sign of Solas? Is that what you’re wondering?”  
A horrific thought suddenly settled in her mind. Solas was intelligent, cunning, powerful. He’d already trod this path they were walking. He knew what they knew.   
She went to stand closer to the fire, rubbing at her chest with her hand. “He knows.”  
Cullen moved closer. “What does he know?”  
El felt her breath catch in her throat. “He raised the veil. He knows how to tear it down.”  
She met his eyes. Horror leeching through her pores. “He’s always known I could be his foci. I could replace the orb.”  
“Maker’s breath, are you saying…?”  
“I’m saying he needs me to take the veil down.”  
Cullen sputtered, “But, it would kill you, right? That’s the problem. It would kill you to be used in that way, just as it destroyed the orb.”  
“What is he waiting for?” she wondered out loud.  
Cullen put a hand on his desk in that old familiar gesture he used when he needed to steady himself. “He’s getting his courage up, desperately seeking some alternative, questioning whether he can do it.”  
“Cullen, he can do it.”  
“Not whether he’s able, El!” She looked at him in shock when he raised his voice. Softer, he continued, “He’s doubting that he’s got it in himself to kill you.”  
She laughed, a harsh, angry sound.   
“That’s rich. I’ve wrestled with that same worry myself lately.”   
“What does this mean? For us, I mean?” Cullen asked her. “It changes nothing.”  
“It means Cullen that there is a very simple solution to this.”  
Cullen shook his head. “I see none.”  
“Don’t you?” she asked him staring at him in a direct way.   
She saw the moment he understood her. “No, we can’t.”  
“We can and we will. If I’m in danger of being taken, you will order our men to strike me down immediately.”  
“No, there is another way!”  
She marched straight up her best friend in the world. “There may be, but it’s not obvious here and now! This is an order, but I’ll be the one issuing it.” She reached out and ran her hand over her commander’s jacket sleeve giving a soft squeeze of the tough fabric and warm flesh beneath her hand. “You cannot save us all, old friend.”  
A knock on the chamber door was followed by a young recruit awkwardly interrupting a rare scene playing out, a fight amongst the inner circle. “Ser, there’s been a message from the first eyrie. A messenger is scaling the walls.”  
“Very well,” Cullen said with a huff. “I’ll be there directly.” As the girl left, Cullen raised a finger and said in his usual obstinate tone, “This conversation is not over.”  
Storming out of the chamber, she watched with a tear leaking from the corner of one eye. It was over because she had no doubt Solas could and would come for her. What was, after all, one short, insignificant life in the face of his immortal people?  
Oh, she’d given him pause, but he’d recover quickly enough. She stood in the doorway watching Cullen disappear.   
“It’s definitely over, my friend,” she whispered.


	10. Love costs dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean returns to Skyhold to hear of Eliana's recent decision and he has his own opinion on the subject.

Jean used the rope to pull himself up that last bit of hard Earth and over the lip of the Undercroft. The Commander was standing with his back to the opening talking to Harrit. A soldier he didn’t know took his hand and helped pull him over the precipice into the hold.   
“Welcome home, Sergent.”  
He grunted out a thank you, as another small voice chirped, “You’re the Inquisitor’s bodyguard, right? She’ll be glad to see you.”  
The dwarf who enchanted for the Inquisition and called herself the arcanist smiled widely at him, freckles in sharp relief against her nose. Jean stood to his full height looking down. “Dagna, right?”  
“Ya, my reputation precedes me.”  
He smiled at the cheerfulness of the dwarf before him even in a siege. “How long does it take to enchant a good blade and do you have any made?”  
“Depends on the rune. Why do you ask?”  
Reaching into his pack, Jean pulled out the item he’d acquired over the last weeks of fighting and organizing forces to fight for Skyhold. He pulled out a disk glowing faintly green in the dim light of the cavern which housed the castle’s smithy.  
“Pretty,” Dagna said. “I have a dual set if you have another.”  
His smile fell somewhat. “No, I only need the one, and it needs to work more like a staff.”  
Dagna paused glancing at the rune. “Oh, it’s for the Inquisitor.”  
He nodded. She smiled at him. “I’ll have it ready by the morning. It will be waiting. I do love a challenge.” She was already walking away.  
“Good,” he said, realizing as Cullen spotted him that the Commander was finished with his consultation as well. “Jean Davin,” he said as he approached. “I wondered if we’d see you again.”  
“You of all people ought to know just how much trouble Elven women can get you into,” he joked, but his friend didn’t smile. “Ser?”  
“It’s worse than you know, Jean. So much worse.”  
“Fallon? The baby?”  
Cullen shook his head, and Jean swore more than the chill of the stone cut through him. “What’s happened?”  
“Follow me,” he ordered.   
As they walked, the commander told him of the Inquisitor’s new orders and rage burned in his heart as he’d never felt before. He’d pass Cullen the Iron Bull’s message, and then he had something to do.  
*  
El sat before four of their most senior officers. Cullen had refused to have anything whatever to do with her order. She’d begun by explaining to them in simple terms the mark and the magic that had put it there. She then explained to them in painful detail her concerns.   
She ended, “So, I need men I can count on here. Your orders might not be easy to follow, but they are necessary.” She paused a moment before she gave the order, hesitated a beat from signing her own death warrant, but then steeled her resolve. “If I’m in danger of being taken at any time. One of you is to carry out this order without hesitation: You will end my life. Is that clear?”  
The four men stirred in their seats uncomfortably, until Hanover, the greenest of the bunch, said in a feeble tone, “You can’t mean that Inquisitor.”  
From the doorway, she heard Jean’s angry voice- she could tell by his accent growing far more pronounced- saying, “Oh, she very much means it, and you will ignore that order, gentlemen, and lady.” He bowed to Hanover as he referred to her.  
“Jean, you haven’t got that kind of authority here,” she stood to place a hand on her desk. She’d decided to have this meeting in her own personal space, perhaps for privacy, perhaps to feel safer, ironically.   
“I quit, remember?” With that defiant statement, he turned to the Inquisition’s finest officers. “Here is the authority I do have: If any whore’s-son of you tries to follow through on that order, you will need to kill me first. For if you don’t, I will hunt you down just as I will hunt down any other traitor to the Inquisition.”  
“Jean!” She stood there appalled. He’d only ever seemed confident and at ease. This man before her wasn’t confident. He was incensed.  
Hanover looked ridiculously relieved and the others uncomfortably conflicted. El understood that the order may have been somewhat unfair, but she might not be in a position to do this herself. Solas would be ready for it. He knew her well enough to know the idea of dying for the cause didn’t trouble her. If he decided to come for her, he would incapacitate her as quickly as possible.   
Jean turned to place his hands in front of her on the desk. “I’ll deal with you in a moment.”  
“Oh, you will be,” she growled in promise.   
Jean turned his head minutely. “If you would give us the room…?” It was a polite order, but an order none the less despite the fact that each of these men and one woman had outranked him during his time as an Inquisition soldier. El wanted to contradict the order but had a feeling it would do no good and only make a troubling scene worse. Some men could command with a look, and it appeared Jean was one of those men.   
It was best she and Jean hash this out themselves. That decided she held her temper until each of the soldiers tromped booted feet down her stairs and had time to retreat to safety.   
The moment she thought they were away, she unleashed every Elven obscenity ever conceived. He pushed off the desk and crept around it as she continued the rapid-fire cursing of his soul until he stood directly before her.   
“Well, that needs no translation. Cullen’s informed me of everything.”  
“How dare you? You come in here as though you have some say in my choices, in how I run the Inquisition….”  
He was so close in his temper that she could see nothing but Jean. He hadn’t even washed off the dirt of his climb before coming here to harangue her about this. Lowering his voice in a way that made it more intimidating, “How you fulfill your duty to your people is your business, Lady Inquisitor, but how you care for yourself is mine.”   
“By what right do you say that?” she spat at him.   
“Because I love you. We all do!” His hands shook at his sides, she noticed. “How dare I? How can you possibly stand there and ask your soldiers to destroy their hope with their own hands?”  
“I am one woman!” Her shout might have brought the mountain down she feared as she threw her hands up and moved away from the force of nature that Jean had suddenly become. “These people come first. Do you understand what Solas or Illusion could do if they found a way to use me to destroy the veil? All our work, all our sacrifices for nothing!”  
“I understand- as you clearly don’t- what your loss will mean to those people. You won’t even trust us to shield you? You’ve just decided that your life is the cost? What arrogance.”  
“Arrogance? You must be joking?”  
“Yes, arrogance. As though you are the only one of us willing to fight for this world or die for it.” Contempt colored his words, she realized, contempt and something else. “Solas will find another way,” he concluded.  
“You cannot know that,” she argued right back.   
He laughed bitterly. “Oh, I’m in a very good position to know that. No one who ever really loved you would get over it for any reason.”  
That was the second time he….   
“Jean?” she asked, struggling for the words to ask him what he meant. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.   
He rubbed his hand over his face and turned from her toward the door. She thought for a moment he might leave, but he turned back, a troubled look on his face. “What was this about? It’s not all about sacrificing yourself for us. What is it?”  
Eliana felt a flare of magic in her hand. She understood a moment before it happened the rage and fear that swept through her. Shock followed that rage as she unleashed a massive wave of fire at the training dummy before her balcony and watched it skitter through the open doors and across the stone as it burned.   
Jean didn’t flinch, but simply rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, that’s mature, Herald.” He grabbed the floral pitcher from her washbasin that had been a gift from Josephine and tossed the water within over the dummy, killing enough of the blaze to douse the threat of the fire.  
“What do you want from me?” The words tore from her, and Eliana realized there would be no stopping the storm that was coming. “There are limits, Jean. Everyone has a limit. I’ve reached mine.”  
“Good, now tell me what they are,” he almost sounded approving.   
She stepped closer to him. “Corypheus, Solas, Venatori, Giants, Demons, Cults, Wardens, Templars, Mages. How many enemies must I face, Jean? How many people do I have to carry?”  
Her voice cracked as her rage failed her. “Now, this…. I can’t do it.”  
He was suddenly beside her, reaching for her. “That day in the mirrors… You didn’t see him. You didn’t hear him.”  
Jean’s arms wrapped her up tightly, clasping her to his chest. She pushed him away with a cruel laugh. “I was a child, Jean. A fool. He’s the Dread Wolf, and I fell right into his…. Once he said to me about the Fade that it could be just another part of our world like a fast-moving river. Of course, he said, ‘ it can drown careless children but it can also carry a farmer’s flour to market’. He told me just what he wanted.” She let her eyes find Jean’s and the sympathy she saw there broke her. “I ignored every clue, every hint, and then when he…. I still mourned him. He destroyed my life, and he’s trying to destroy my world. Yet, I mourned him.”  
Jean cradled her in his arms rocking her back and forth. “So, you aren’t allowed to experience loss, Eliana? Is that what you’re telling me? Betrayal shouldn’t affect you at all?”  
She clutched his shirt as the tears began. “I can’t take any more loss. Better that it be me than anyone else I love.”  
He sighed, resting his hand over her head running his thumb in a soothing pattern over her cheekbone. “And we finally come to it. You blame yourself for being a mere mortal outplayed by an ages-old almost god. Trust me, you’re the only one who blames you. No one else does. You loved him, and he betrayed that trust.”  
He pulled away to meet her eyes. “It’s never as simple as just hating the ones who hurt you the most. There will always be a part of you that wants this to end differently. You still love him. That doesn’t mean you aren’t strong enough to face him, and it doesn’t mean that you’ll let him use you for his own purpose.” He tilted her head up when she looked down at that. “That is what you’re most afraid of, isn’t it? That you’ll give in to him?”  
She shook her head. Sadness swamped her heart. “I’m most afraid that I am giving in. There’s nothing left of me, Jean. You’re wrong on one count. I don’t still love him”, but I worry that I’m no longer strong enough to fight him.”  
“Good thing you aren’t fighting alone. Have you ever noticed that we don’t talk about my family?” At her nod, he rumbled a sound deep in his chest that she felt to her soul, and it warmed her for some reason.  
“There’s a reason for that. My father was a brute. He beat us, and he told us it was for our own good. He was unkind and unfeeling, but he was our father. I joined Celene’s army to be free of him and his unending cruelty, but I still cried when news came of his death. I mourned that he had not been a better man. It’s normal.”  
They stood in silence, her head against his chest. She could hear the steady thump-thump of his heart. Her mind worked over everything he’d just said until she couldn’t hold the question in. “Jean, what did you mean when you said you loved me?”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is under siege, and Jean-Davin has made his way back to his Inquisitor. It's the night before the final battle for Skyhold and they are fighting another war entirely.

Jean closed his eyes for a second. He’d really hoped she’d missed that slip. She was the Inquisitor. He was … well, for now, he was no longer anything, not really.   
“I… was speaking generally?”   
Her body stiffened in his arms. “Generally? You said I love you.”  
“Eliana, you’re the Inquisitor. It doesn’t matter if I love you. You love someone else for the moment anyway. I know my place here.”  
“Your place?”  
She pulled away and he let her go.   
“So, I’m arrogant for trying to protect literally everyone I care about, but you… you’re different. You are merely sacrificial and tragic for denying that you love me while also insisting you know my mind better than I do. That’s not insulting at all.”  
“I wouldn’t call that a fair characterization of it, no,” he protested.   
“Right,” she said showing him another flash of those brilliant eyes as he noted a few of the mannerisms Bull had pointed out as new. She was angry… again. “Get out,” she told him between gritted teeth.   
“El, we need to….”  
“No,” she said. “No, we don’t need to.” She pushed a hand through her dark curls mussing the loose bun she used to control it all. Her back straight as a board, she became the Inquisitor before his eyes. Her handless arm hanging limply at her side, she turned on him. “You can return to your duties with Cullen.”  
“Which part of what’s happening here is bothering you, El?”  
She stared at him, her eyes harder than he’d ever seen them. “You’re dismissed.”  
He watched her carefully a moment. Stone, he thought. She resembled nothing as much as one of those stone statues in the Graves standing watch over the wilderness. “Your worship,” he said with a sharp bow.   
“Oddly, Timmons, I never pretended to be anything else.”  
________  
The night before a battle was a tense one in any camp, in any war, and this one was worse than usual. Every citizen of Skyhold knew that tomorrow would decide the future of every man, woman, and child within its walls.   
Jean found himself at loose ends. He knocked on the tower door loudly, praying Fallon would be kind. Cullen answered instead.   
“Jean, it’s a long watch tonight.”  
He nodded once. “It is. May I come in, Cullen?”  
“Of course,” he said. “I suspect you have concerns.”  
Grimacing, Jean gave a tight chuckle. “Already the talk of the barracks, huh?”  
Cullen smiled as he moved toward his supply of liquor. “I’ve been told you may have inspired a whole new romance serial for Varric.”  
“That was no happy ending, my friend. She cut me loose. I need my job back.”  
Cullen stopped mid-pour. “Eliana did what?”  
“My impression was that I was only fortunate she didn’t incinerate me with a mine spell.” Cullen handed him a drink.   
“What in Andraste’s name did you say?”  
“I told her I loved her, and then…,” he sighed. “I think in a way I may have taken it back.”  
Cullen rolled his eyes and leaned against his desk. “To a woman who was only recently abandoned and betrayed in the worst way there is?”  
“Believe me, that was exactly what was on my mind. She isn’t over him, Cullen.”  
Cullen shook his head fiercely. “Damn it, Jean. She’s not over the worst of the wound, but Solas burned every bridge he had here including hers. Why do you believe she’s still holding onto an old flame for her mortal enemy?”  
Jean thought over his words. “The worst of the wound.” He hadn’t intended to repeat them aloud.   
Cullen sighed. “I’m not sure any of us can understand fully what she’s experienced. She fell deeply in love to find out that the man she loved had been her enemy all along. She’s doubting her judgment, man. Can you not see that?”  
“No one picked up on Solas’ origins. No one.”  
Cullen wore an expression that seemed truly disappointed in his old friend. “She doesn’t care. Jean, how long have you been with us? Since sometime after Haven, right? Give or take?”  
“Haven is how I finally found you. Word of the attack spread like wildfire.”  
“Right,” Cullen said before taking a drink. “When she first came to us, she was surly, defensive and frequently sarcastic, but she changed. As she took blow after blow, she ….” He sighed deeply. “Perhaps she grew used to the pain. Remind you of anything?”  
“Lyrium withdrawal,” Jean said quietly. His own ghosts rearing up from their graves.  
“Exactly, only her pain won’t end. Eliana fell into all this. She never chose it, and it’s got its claws in so deep now that she’ll never be anything but the Inquisitor. There’s no treatment for it. I fear she sees death as an inevitable outcome.”  
Cullen’s laugh was at odds with his sour expression. “We’ve all marveled at her ability to adapt to all of this, to keep sanity after walking the Fade. We’re all fools. The Fade changed her forever, and we just didn’t know her well enough to know it.”  
These revelations cut him deeply. He’d perhaps overlooked the obvious. “What do we do?” His words sounded as lost as he truly felt.   
Cullen stared at the floor. “I don’t know for certain, but she needs escape. She needs to be something besides Inquisitor or she will be lost.”  
Feeling like ten times an idiot, he sat in silence rolling Cullen’s words around in his head long after Cullen returned to his wife. The woman he’d been judging so harshly was remarkable, and she’d had her one source of hope taken. Now, he could see it. She didn’t fight for herself at all. El didn’t believe her life to be of importance, so she lived for everyone around her. Her fight was dedicated to Cullen, Fallon, their child, and all the other men and women in Skyhold who deserved a chance.   
It was fatalistic thinking, and it would get her killed. Cullen was right. He had to fix this.  
________  
Eliana Lavellan stared down at the valley from her balcony as night crept on without her. Tomorrow, she would fight once again for Skyhold. If she was honest with herself and she sometimes was, El knew she was too tired for this.   
She looked down at the place where the mark should be but was no longer. Yet, she felt as though she could see it. Even with her hand gone, she could still see the glowing green mark on her soul.   
What had Solas done to her?  
Some might have loved having the power of the mark and the acclaim that followed it, but El had always felt it changed her irrevocably. Before she’d become the Inquisitor, she’d been a hunter, a mage for her clan, and then a spy. Oh, not like Leliana, but a spy nonetheless. Now, she felt those around her to be utterly deceived in her true nature. They though her a warrior, a leader.   
A sound rang out and she turned quickly to find the source. Jean-Davin stood at the top of the steps staring at her.   
“Pardon me,” he began. “I knocked repeatedly, but you didn’t hear me.”  
She’d stripped down to shirtsleeves and removed her boots earlier. Her hair swung down her back as she’d pulled it down to combat the headache that threatened at her temples. She shivered in the evening air, then went back inside closing the door behind her.   
“What was it you needed, Jean?”  
He rubbed the back of his neck in a way that reminded her so much of Cullen that she smiled despite herself. “I’m not sure,” he said with a wicked look up at her. “I found it impossible to stay away.”  
“Did you try very hard?”   
He smiled at her then, and it left her a bit breathless.   
“I did,” he said. “It was no use. Cullen got me thinking.”  
She wrapped her arms around herself and chuckled. “That’s a frightening thought.”  
“I know,” he agreed. He took a deep breath and let it out. “El, I find myself with very divided loyalties, and it’s time that ends.”  
Confused, she finally looked at him squarely. “What does that mean?”  
“I’m very much in favor of what the Inquisition is and what it stands for, but ….”  
She waited and when he didn’t go on, she prompted. “And?”  
He stepped closer. “I find that it’s not as important as I believed it was.”  
“What?”  
He moved close enough to touch her. “I have a deeper loyalty, one I wasn’t expecting,” he said. “To you.”  
Eliana couldn’t look away if she’d wanted to, neither would he. She couldn’t speak, had no idea what to say.   
“The Inquisition needs you, but it’s killing you, El.”  
She also couldn’t deny that last.  
“I… There’s nothing anyone can do about that, Jean.”  
“I think there is,” he said holding out a hand to her. “Come with me.”  
Without thinking, she reached out and let him take hers, his grip strong and sure and warm. He smiled at her as he pulled her down the stairs and along the hallway.  
Jean didn’t hurry her, and their footsteps soon became a soft rhythm on the old stones. He took her across the deserted Great Hall and through the door that led to Vivienne’s old chamber once upon a time.   
Someone had been busy. The room itself was like her own in that it rested above an unfinished chamber below on a balustrade stretching across to the other side. The sweeping ceilings of the castle stretched endlessly over their heads, or so it seemed from there.   
The bones of the room were the same as they had been when Madame Le Fer called this home, but the furnishings had been changed. No longer a bed-chamber, the whole room was now a sitting area, clearly designed to make its occupants at ease. Bookshelves filled one corner and the outer balcony had been filled with potted herbs and plants of every kind.   
“This is lovely. What is this?” She asked him as her eyes drank in the beauty of the room.   
“It’s your escape. It’s for you, Lady Inquisitor.”  
“Did you do this?”  
He grinned at her and then shrugged. “With a little help, Madame.”  
“Whatever will I do here?” Her eyes explored the velveteen and silks and wondered what anyone did with a room this lavish.   
“Whatever you like, Your Worship. It’s entirely yours.”  
She walked to the balcony to look out on the night sky. Stars stretched forever above them, and, for once, the night was peaceful with no signs of the army keeping them captive for they were on the other side of the keep.   
“Jean, this is thoughtful, but….”  
He spoke from just beside her. “But you intend to take no rest until you are dead. Is that the plan?”  
“ ’Tis not the goal, but perhaps it is the destined outcome.”  
He uttered a rude word softly. “What is the goal then?”  
“I can’t rest. When I try… I….”  
“Yes,” he encouraged.  
“My sleep is never dreamless.” She laughed bitterly. “You know, Dagna wants nothing more than to see the dreams in the Fade. I find it terribly ironic that I would give her all of my ability, every ounce of magic, to never find myself before him again.”  
A short nod and a frown was his only reaction before he said to her, “Of course, I'm such a fool.”  
Surprised, she let her eyes rest on him after all. “Why do you say this?”  
“I know your history. Still, I didn’t deduce that you would dislike the Fade enough to attempt to avoid it at all costs. I’m a fool.”  
El turned to face Jean. “Jean, what is it you think you want from me? I’m exhausted. What are we doing here?”  
He suddenly reached for her, kissing the breath from her. Eliana tried to hold herself away from him, but she found it to be impossible. Instead, she burrowed the fingers of her surviving hand deep into his dark hair and took what was offered. It was something she wanted more than she wanted her next breath. Why shouldn’t she give in? What were the odds that she would survive yet another enemy at the gates? Who would care if she stole happiness one last time?  
Somehow when the kiss abated she was on her back sprawled across a chaise. “Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be here. Take me with you into the Fade. Let me keep watch over you.”  
Her fingers traced down his face as she pondered the offer. “Why? Why would you?”  
A disgusted burst of breath from his lips took her by surprise, as did the way his body caged her in quickly, taking a dominant position above her. “Because I love you.” He covered her lips with a finger. “Stop. I meant it, and Cullen’s made me realize I’m an idiot.”  
His accent grew thicker with each word. “I love you madly, Mon Coeur. You must be protected from yourself if I can’t protect you from anything else.”  
“Then what?”  
“Then,” he paused and slid his hands around her body pulling her body into his. “Then, tomorrow we fight.”  
“Tomorrow we fight,” she repeated solemnly. Why did every word the man uttered sound like a promise?


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas returns.

Jean woke with her in his arms.   
He pulled her closer. The scent of dawn seemed to seep through the open balcony doors. He pressed his nose into her unbound hair and breathed in the scent of her thinking he should memorize this moment for who knew if they would lie here again. His arms wrapped tight and pressed her head to his chest. For just a bit longer, he would keep her safe and prepare himself mentally for the sight of her to come, that of a woman throwing herself at an enemy. He breathed her in again to soothe the thought pounding at him as much as memorize the moment.   
The torches had burned out, but a servant must have stoked the fire. He’d pulled a blanket over them in the night, and she had slept through it all. He wanted desperately to believe he’d kept her anchored and out of the Fade in her dreams. She stretched against his body making him smile. She reminded him of a cat in the sun.  
“Mmmm,” she mumbled. “Morning.”  
“Very nearly. We should get dressed.”  
She looked him over. “You are dressed. Perhaps you would like a change?”  
He smiled again. “Precisely, milady.”  
She pulled away slowly as if she didn’t want to go, and Jean treasured that small intimacy. “I’ll have your coffee sent up.”  
“Join me?”  
He shook his head. “I have to consult with Cullen before our forces arrive if I can.” He looked out the windows. “It’s close to first light.”  
El reached her hand out for him and grabbed his shirt digging her soft fingers into the flesh of his chest. “If we both live through this…,” she began.  
“When,” he corrected.   
“When we both live through this, are we going to address the gurn in the room?”  
“It depends on what that is.” He leaned into her and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. “Are you going to fight for me, milady? I won’t be standing here alone. You go. I go.”  
“Jean, that isn’t fair.” Her protests didn’t move him at all and he shook his head.   
“Those are the stakes. Are you in?”  
“This isn’t Wicked Grace!”   
The steel in his tone seemed appropriate to the moment as he pulled her into his arms again. “You are correct, madame. It’s more akin to Josephine’s Great Game. Now, are you in or out?”  
He watched with his heart in his throat as she weighed her options. Then she whispered, “I’m in,” so softly he almost missed it. He kissed her again. This time with more fire.   
“Good, I’ll see you in the Hall, yes?”  
She nodded, and he let her go with a jaunty wave. The trip to Cullen’s office took only moments usually, but this morning the courtyard was filled with obstacles, weapons and soldiers and supplies being shuffled and prepared for the moment they’d be needed.   
As he entered, Cullen was kissing his wife goodbye, and Jean-Davin ducked back out with a slight smile on his lips. When the door opened again letting Fallon out, she smiled at him and Jean smiled back, then Cullen gestured for the guard behind Jean to follow his wife. “Straight to the clinic and nowhere else unless circumstances change.”  
“Cullen,” he started. Cullen shook his head.   
“Just a moment. I suspect you and I have the same purpose this morning.”  
He stepped inside before he continued. “We’ve been doing this a while, Jean. We know this is going to be a close one.”  
“We do. We have.” Jean took the hand Cullen extended. “It’s been an honor.”  
“Your orders haven’t changed, My friend. The Inquisitor survives this. No matter who else we lose.”  
“I will guard her with my life.” He realized that might be the first time in his life those words passed his lips and he knew, beyond any doubt that he would, in fact, give his life for a cause.   
Tension seemed to leave Cullen’s frame. “Good. Let’s get to it then. I suspect Bull will be here for tea.”  
“I’d love to see that,” Jean laughed picturing the Qunari holding a tiny teacup in his massive hands.   
*  
The Great Hall had been cleared and stood shoulder to shoulder with the vulnerable of the keep. This was the safest place for them. Eliana had strapped her new knife on and stood running a finger over the crystal housed on the grip. She stepped out onto the stairs and waited for the door to clap closed behind her with a final sounding thump as the bar shoved home.   
She headed straight for the mages’ barricade facing the encroaching invaders who appeared to have given up on building a replacement for the ancient stone bridge. They were using their own mages to drag a slab of stone from some ruin or other over the gap. It was slow going, but the stone was probably large enough to get the job done, and the distance too great to deal with it magically. She cursed as she studied the situation, then handed the glass back to the lieutenant.  
Illusion wasn’t visible, but she knew he was there. There was a chill on her skin that had little to do with the morning dew.  
She settled in to wait for the reinforcements.  
They came just after the sun started to arch toward its apex. With a huge shout, the Chargers who remained free charged the bridge before the slab could be firmly placed. They must have decided it couldn’t be allowed to be finished. She agreed wholeheartedly.   
The mages began hurling spells over the balustrade in support of the ground troops. She ran for her place on the line and focused her own fire on scattering the enemies’ defenses. As she concentrated on the ebb and flow of the battle, she zeroed in on the hulking demon who’d made her life a living hell recently.   
She followed the demon, wearing it down. It frustrated her no end that she couldn’t actually reach the bulk of the battle. She watched in silence as the Iron Bull took an arrow in the shoulder and one of his men dragged him to cover. As she watched Bull and gave him covering fire, she missed the demon’s change of direction. He’d headed toward the stone slab still waiting to be moved.   
A demon was strong enough to move the stone, and she shouted to the mages, “The demon! Hit the demon!”  
They did, but it had little effect because of the distance. Illusion was no ordinary demon.   
A loud sound rang out over the battlefield and the demon turned its head quickly to assess the noise. El couldn’t tell from here what the demon saw, but she knew it turned its hulking body to face off with something.   
“Give me the glass,” she yelled holding out her hand. Looking through, she saw finally what the demon fought. It wouldn’t be a long battle. Her heart stopped in her throat. Her throat went dry. He’d come.   
She didn't even watch the battle with the demon. She knew how it would end.   
Woodenly, she marched down the steps and to the gatehouse. No one questioned her. She was the inquisitor. She pulled her blade from the sheath and said to the guard. “Open.”  
Two men exchanged confused looks. “Inquisitor, are you certain?”  
“Open it!” She clenched her fists and inhaled deeply to calm herself. “This gate is no barrier to Solas.” The men cranked the gate open in time for her to see Solas lift the slab and place it over the gap. His gaze met hers across the bridge.   
The sudden softness in his eyes made her furious. She approached him with magic drawn into her palm. It crackled up and down her arm as she stalked him.   
“Vhenan, is that necessary?”  
“Oh, I think it is, Solas.” She lifted the blade aiming the magic his way. “You’ve come to kill me, have you not?”  
“Eliana!” The voice shouting from the wall broke her heart. “Don’t you dare!”  
But she already had, hadn’t she?   
The wind whipped her coat around her knees as it gusted through the valley. Solas watched Jean as he disappeared behind the wall, frantic to get to her, she knew that. El closed her eyes at the sound of his desperation.   
“I have to right the world,” he said on something that sounded suspiciously like a sob.   
“Solas, you can’t right the world. It righted itself. You’re simply continuing to worship dead gods and old ways. This is the world now,” she shouted to him. “This is the world, and you’re destroying it all. For nothing!”  
“Vhenan, you cannot know what all this was like before. You’ve never seen such beauty. Had I known what it would become… I never would have raised the veil.”  
She unleashed the lightning spell at his feet, knowing that he felt it even if he pretended not to. She saw pain in his eyes. “You don’t get it, Solas. I don’t care. I just don’t care. Your regrets are yours. This world, these lives, they trump all of that. You have no right to this world. It’s not yours anymore.”  
She laughed wildly as the sounds of battle grew closer and footsteps pounded behind her. “Solas. Your name is perfect. Pride.” He stared at her with that quizzical expression she used to find so endearing. “A demon name.”  
He flinched at her words.   
Jean appeared between them, shielding her with his body knives drawn. Solas studied them both as she stepped from behind him. “Jean, no. This is mine to do. Isn’t it, Solas? You mean me to die for your world, don’t you?”  
“No!” Solas screamed over the wind and war sounds. It was probably the most mortal she’d ever seen him. “I can make this work.”  
“No, you can’t. We both know that. You need to use me to tear the veil down now that the orb is missing.” Naked pain painted his face and she knew she was right.   
“I’m searching for another.”  
“But you won’t find it, will you, Solas? We both know that.” She moved a hair closer fiddling with the blade in the hand by her side. “Tell me. Why kill Illusion? He’s an ally if I’m reading the situation correctly. Why not allow him to do your work for you? It’s how you created the breach after all.”  
He looked away from her. “Ah, because of the breach.”  
He raised a hand in protest. “Not just because of the breach. I have to try something.”  
“Over my dead body,” Jean growled at the other man catching Solas’ interest completely this time.   
“You’re the duelist, aren’t you? Why are you here?”  
She laughed a bit. El thought she must be losing her mind a little. “Solas, what’s taking so long? You’re a god, right?”  
“Not exactly,” he answered without looking away from Jean. “You love her.”   
“Somebody should,” Jean answered and started toward the elf who’d started it all. He froze in place knife raised to strike Solas.   
“If you’ve hurt him, you’re going to have a much harder time doing this than you expected.”  
Solas’ stark expression almost moved her. Almost. “You care for him as well.”  
“Things change, vhenan. That’s a lesson you’ve never learned in all your countless years. Nothing stays the same. I don’t just care for him. I love him. He’s valiant.” She took a good long look at the still form of the man she truly loved. “He’s heroic and loyal, faultlessly loyal, and he makes me smile even with hell at the door.”   
Solas bent his head before her onslaught, but she didn’t stop. “He’s my people. These behind me are my people. The Inquisition is worth fighting for.” She stepped right in his face letting the wind and the moment pass over her on a wisp of cool mountain air. “You want to destroy my world. You’re going to have to kill me for it. I won’t help you.”  
Without another word, she slipped the blade between his ribs. His utter shock showed through the pain on his face as she pulled it out. He would know in a moment that the blade was poisoned. El had worried she couldn’t do it, but seeing Jean completely at his mercy had changed everything.   
“Hurts doesn’t it? Next time you come, Solas. Make sure you’re ready to kill me.” He staggered, still staring at her.   
“Vhenan?”   
“Don’t. You don’t have a heart.”  
He fell backward trying to run. He staggered to his feet with one last betrayed look on his face. He’d be fine. She’d known she couldn’t kill him. That’s a problem that would have to be rectified soon. She heard Jean gasping for breath behind her and rushed back to his side. Looking over her shoulder just once, she watched Solas disappear, turning into thousands of fluttering pieces as the Venatori mages did. He’d learned new tricks after all.   
She turned her attention to checking on her wounded and rebuilding her fortress. Without the demon, the cultists slowly peeled away from the battlefield and the Inquisition let them go.   
*  
The mood in Skyhold that evening was jubilant. The siege was over and the people could rest tonight without the ax hanging over them. Jean stood outside on the balcony of Eliana’s retreat waiting for her to find her moment to slip away from the party.   
She loved him. She’d said it out loud and to her old lover. He breathed in a deep, calming breath. He’d almost lost her and he felt burning anger at that. She’d risked everything. He had already shouted that directly in her face in the courtyard as they were helping him back inside.   
She’d shouted back, “For you, I will. Now, shut up and keep moving. I want you in the clinic. Falon needs to check on you.”  
He’d started to protest again, but she’d become the Inquisitor once again before his eyes and handed him off to Cullen at the bottom of the stairs. Falon stood at the top ushering the men into the clinic.   
Once he had been placed on a cot, Falon had moved in to start her examination. What was the first thing she said to him? “You’d better be careful or you’ll end up in the cupboard.”  
“Lady Falon, what does that even mean?” He spoke in frustration. Elven women were maddening.   
Falon simply laughed.   
Now, as he stood there waiting, he couldn’t be angry in the true sense. The Inquisition was a mighty burden to bear. It required some leeway. She wasn’t just any woman, and he’d have to learn how to let her be who she was to everyone, including her people.   
The door opened and closed. She stood there, showered and changed. Her long hair lay in a braid down her side. She looked so vulnerable and innocent.   
“So,” he finally said firmly. “I believe we were supposed to talk.”  
She nodded. He moved toward her and caressed her face sweetly. “About a gurn, if memory serves.”  
She smiled up at him, and that was it. Discussion over.   
Elven women.


End file.
